PS 

1732 

V5 

1911 

MAIN 


VICTOR 

OLLNEE'S 
DISCIPLINE 


MLIN  GARLAND 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S 
DISCIPLINE 


BY 

HAMLIN    GARLAND 

AUTHOR  bF 
'THE  CAPTAIN  OK  THE  GRAY-HORSE  TROOP' 

"MAIN-TRAVELLED  ROADS"  ETC. 


HARPER    £r    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND   LONDON 

MCMXI 


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HAMLIN    GARLAND 

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COPYRIGHT.    1011.    BY    HAMLIN   GARLAND 


PRINTED   IN   THE    UNITED   STATES    OF    AMERICA 
PUBLISHED   SEPTEMBER.    1911 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR      ...  i 

II.  VICTOR  INTERROGATES  His  MOTHER    ...  17 

III.  VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST '41 

IV.  VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR     ...  61 

V.  VICTOR  RECEIVES  A  WARNING 76 

VI.  VICTOR  is  CHECKED  IN  His  FLIGHT    ...  94 

VII.  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  SPIRIT 119 

VIII.  VICTOR  REPAIRS  His  MOTHER'S  ALTAR  .     .  130 

IX.  THE  LAW'S  DELAY 156 

X.  A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 185 

XI.  LOVE'S  TRANSLATION      .........  204 

XII.  A  MOONLIGHT  CALL  AND  A  VISION    ....  226 

XIII.  VICTOR  TESTS  His  THEORY 245 

XIV.  THE  ORDEAL 262 

XV.  THE  RING 289 

XVI.  CONCLUSION 299 


MlSOoO 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S 
DISCIPLINE 


VICTOR   READS   THE   FATEFUL   STAR 

OATURDAY  had  been  a  strenuous  day  for 
O  the  baseball  team  of  Winona  University, 
and  Victor  Ollnee,  its  redoubtable  catcher,  slept 
late.  Breakfast  at  the  Beta  Kappa  Fraternity 
House  on  Sunday  started  without  him,  and 
Gilbert  Frenson,  who  never  played  ball  or  tennis, 
and  Arnold  Macey,  who  was  too  effeminate  to 
swing  a  bat,  divided  the  Sunday  morning  Star 
between  them. 

"See  here,  Gil,"  called  Macey,  holding  up  an 
illustrated  page,  "do  you  suppose  this  woman  is 
any  relation  to  Vic?" 

Frenson  took  the  paper  and  glanced  at  it 
casually.  It  contained  a  full-page  lurid  article, 
printed  in  two  colors,  with  the  picture  of  a  tall, 
serpentine,  heavy-eyed,  yet  beautiful  woman, 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

whds£  long  aOTs;  (jencHg  in  claws)  reached  for  the 
heart:  of  a  sleeping  man.    ' '  What  is  it  all  about  ? 
asked  -Fi^^nVas  &i£.eyes  roamed  over  the  text. 
'"'  It  seems*  to  be  an  attack  on  a  medium  named 
Ollnee  who  pretends  to  be  able  to  bring  the  dead 
to  life.     According  to  this  article,  she's  the  limit 
as  a  fraud.     You  don't  suppose—     Ollnee  is  an 
unusual  name — 

"Oh,  not  so  very.  I  suppose  it's  another  way 
of  spelling  Olney.  I  don't  see  any  reason  to 
connect  old  Vic  with  any  such  woman  as  that." 
"No,  only  he's  always  been  kind  of  secretive 
about  his  folks.  You'll  admit  that.  Why,  we 
don't  even  know  where  he  came  from!  Nobody 
does,  unless  you  do." 

Frensen  dipped  into  the  article.  "Wow!  this 
is  a  hot  one !  Lucile  has  a  case  for  libel  all  right— 
unless  the  reporter  happens  to  be  telling  the 
truth." 

"Hello,  Vic!"  he  shouted,  as  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  but  rather  lean  young  fellow  en 
tered  the  room.  "Vic,  you  are  discovered!" 

"What's  the  excitement?"  asked  the  new 
comer. 

"Here's  an  article  in  the  Sunday  paper  you 
should  see.  It's  all  about  a  woman  namesake 
of  yours,  a  medium  named  Lucile  Ollnee.  The 
name  is  spelled  exactly  like  yours.  Say,  old 
man,  I  didn't  know  you  were  the  son  of  an 
'infamous  faker.'  Why  didn't  you  let  us  know." 
His  tone  was  comic. 

2 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

Young  Ollnee  took  the  paper  quietly,  but,  as 
he  read,  a  look  of  bewilderment  came  upon  his 
face. 

' '  How  about  it,  Vic  ?' '  repeated  Macey .  ' '  You 
seem  to  be  hard  hit.  Is  she  an  aunt  or  a  sister  ?" 

Rising  abruptly,  Victor  left  the  room,  taking 
the  paper  with  him. 

Macey  uttered  a  word  of  astonishment,  but 
Frensen,  after  a  pause,  said,  soberly,  "There's 
something  doing  here,  Sissy.  He  didn't  act  a 
bit  funny;  but  it's  up  to  us  to  keep  quiet  till  we 
know  just  where  we  stand.  If  that  woman  is 
related  to  Vic  he's  going  to  be  fighting  mad.  I 
guess  I'd  better  go  up  and  see  how  he's  taking  it. 
He  certainly  did  seem  jolted."  He  turned  to 
utter  a  warning.  "Don't  say  anything  to  the 
other  fellows  till  I  come  back." 

Macey  promised,  and  Frenson  went  up  the 
stairs  and  into  the  little  study  which  he  and 
Victor  shared  in  common.  The  windows  were 
open  and  the  bird-songs  and  the  fragrance  of  a 
glorious  May  morning  flooded  the  room  with  joy, 
but  in  the  midst  of  its  radiance  young  Ollnee  sat, 
bent  above  the  fateful  printed  page. 

As  Frenson  entered  he  raised  his  head.  "Have 
you  read  this  thing,  Frens?"  he  asked,  tremu 
lously. 

"Part  of  it." 

"Frens,  Lucy  Ollnee  is  my  mother.  This  ar 
ticle  is  full  of  lies,  but  it's  based  on  facts.  I'd  like 
to  kill  the  man  that  wrote  it,"  he  added,  savagely. 

3 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

"Let  me  look  at  it  again,"  said  Frenson. 

Victor  handed  the  paper  to  him  and  sat  in 
silence  while  Frenson  went  over  the  article  with 
studious  care.  It  was  an  exceedingly  able  and 
bitter  presentation  of  the  opposition  side.  It 
left  no  excuse,  no  palliation  for  a  career  such  as 
that  of  Lucile  Ollnee. 

"She  is  fraudulent  from  beginning  to  end,"  the 
writer  passionately  declared.  "From  her  heart 
outward  she  is  as  vile,  as  remorseless,  as  mys 
terious  as  a  vampire.  No  one  knows  from  what 
foul  nest  she  sprang.  She  battens  upon  the  sick, 
the  world-weary,  the  sorrowing.  Her  hokus- 
pokus  is  so  simple  that  it  would  deceive  no  one 
but  those  who  are  blinded  by  their  own  tears. 
She  has  just  one  human  trait.  She  is  said  to  be 
educating  a  son  at  an  Eastern  university  on  the 
profits  of  her  vile  trade.  It  is  said  that  she  is 
keeping  him  in  ignorance  of  her  way  of  life." 

Frenson  looked  up  at  his  friend.  "Vic,  what 
do  you  know  of  this  business?" 

"Almost  nothing.  I  don't  know  very  much 
of  even  my  mother's  relations.  The  first  that  I 
can  remember  is  our  home  in  La  Crescent.  My 
father's  name  was  Paul  Ollnee,  but  I  can't  re 
member  him.  He  died  before  I  was  three  years 
old.  We  left  La  Crescent  when  I  was  about 
eight  and  went  to  the  city.  I  can't  remember 
very  much  previous  to  that  time,  but  after  we 
moved  to  the  city  I  know  my  mother  set  up  her 
'ghost-room'  again." 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

"Ghost-room?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  called  it.  I  can't  re 
member  when  there  was  not  a  'ghost -room' 
in  our  house.  As  far  back  as  when  I  was  five 
years  old  we  had  it,  and  I  was  just  getting  old 
enough  to  wonder  about  it  when  we  moved  to 
the  city." 

"What  kind  of  a  den  was  this  ghost-room?" 

"It  looked  like  any  other  bright  and  pretty 
room,  but  I  never  got  more  than  a  glimpse  of  it, 
for  I  was  afraid  of  it.  There  was  nice  paper  on 
the  wall,  I  remember,  and  a  desk  with  books,  and 
there  were  some  tall  tin  horns  standing  in  the 
corner.  Oh  yes,  and  always  an  old  walnut  table. 
There's  something  queer  about  that.  I  don't 
understand  why  my  mother  should  have  taken 
that  table  down  to  the  city  with  her,  but  she  did. 
It  was  just  an  old,  battered-up  walnut  stand,  and 
yet  she  seemed  to  think  the  world  of  it.  She  put 
it  in  the  center  of  her  room  in  the  city  just  as  she 
used  to  have  it  in  our  old  home.  Oh,  how  I 
hated  that  room!  There  was  something  un 
canny  about  it.  There  was  always  a  string  of 
strange  men  and  women  going  into  it  with  my 
mother,  and  I  wras  always  sent  away  to  play 
when  they  came.  Oh,  Gil" — his  voice  broke — 
"she  is  a  medium,  but  she's  not  the  awful  crea 
ture  they  make  her  out." 

* '  Of  course  not .  We  all  know  how  these  things 
go." 

"You  see,  I  went  away  to  boarding-school 

2  S 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

when  I  was  ten.  This  paper  says  I  was  sent 
away  to  keep  me  clear  of  the  business  that  went 
on  at  home.  I'm  not  sure  but  that  is  true,  for 
I've  seen  very  little  of  my  mother's  home  life 


since." 


"Didn't  you  visit  her  during  vacations?" 

"No,  she  always  came  to  see  me,  and  we  took 
trips  here  and  there.  We'd  go  East,  or  to 
Colorado  somewhere.  Oh,  we've  had  such  splen 
did  times  together,  Gil.  She  brought  me  pres 
ents  and  sent  me  money — "  He  looked  out  of 
the  window  for  a  few  moments  before  he  could 
go  on.  "And  now —  The  other  fellows  will  see 
that  article,  of  course." 

"Yes,  the  whole  town  will  be  reading  it  in  an 
hour.  However,  they  may  not  connect  you  with 
it." 

"Oh  yes,  they  will,  and  they'll  believe  every 
word  of  it,  and  they'll  understand  that  I  am 
Lucy  Ollnee's  son.  This  finishes  me,  Gil.  Every 
body  will  think  I  knew  how  my  mother  earned 
her  money,  and  they'll  despise  me  for  taking  it." 
He  rose  in  an  agony  of  shame.  "I  might  as  well 
be  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake." 

* '  Don't  take  it  so  hard,  old  man.  You're  a  big 
favorite  here,"  said  Frenson,  with  intent  to 
offer  consolation .  '  *  The  work  you'  ve  done  on  the 
team  will  go  a  long  ways  toward  carrying  you 
through  this  thing.  Brace  up;  all  is  not  lost." 

The  stricken  youth  was  not  listening.  "Just 
think,  Gil,  she's  been  doing  all  this  for  me!  I 

6 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

knew  she  claimed  to  have  messages,  but  I  didn't 
know  that  I  was  living  on  money  earned  in  that 
way.  You  see,  we  own  some  houses  in  La  Cres 
cent,  and  I  just  took  it  for  granted  that  our  living 
came  from  them."  He  was  white  with  pain  now. 
"This  ends  my  career  here.  I've  got  to  get  out, 
and  do  it  quick.  I'll  be  the  laughing  stock  of 
the  whole  town  by  noon." 

Frenson,  deeply  sympathetic,  did  his  best  to 
minimize  the  effect  of  the  disclosure,  but  with 
Victor's  corroboration  of  the  reporter's  charges, 
he  was  forced  to  admit  that  Mrs.  Ollnee  was 
either  an  imposter  or  a  woman  of  unsound  mind. 
Little  by  little  he  drew  from  the  stricken  youth 
other  interesting  details. 

"I  remember  having  a  fight  with  a  city  boy 
by  the  name  of  Barker,"  said  Victor,  "because 
he  yelled  at  me  'sonova  medium'  till  I  stopped 
his  mouth  with  my  fist.  It  seems  to  me  as  if 
it  were  the  very  next  day  that  my  mother  took 
me  to  Mirror  Lake  and  put  me  in  a  boarding- 
school.  That  fight  must  have  influenced  her. 
Perhaps  up  to  that  moment  our  neighbors  had 
let  us  alone.  I  can  understand  now  why  she 
always  visited  me  and  why  she  never  offered  to 
take  me  to  the  city." 

He  did  not  say  that  this  very  aloofness  had 
made  of  her,  to  him,  a  serene  and  lofty  figure, 
but  so  it  was.  She  had  come  to  him  out  of  the 
unknown  distance,  a  mysterious  queen  of  the 
fairies,  with  something  very  sad  and  very  sweet 

7 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

in  her  face  and  something  very  appealing  in  her 
voice.  There  was  nothing  commonplace,  nothing 
associated  with  toil  or  worry  in  his  memory  of 
her.  Her  broad,  full  brow,  her  deep-blue  eyes, 
and  her  frail  little  body  put  her  apart  from  other 
women.  As  he  dwelt  now  on  her  dignity,  her 
loving  care,  his  heart  grew  strong  with  resolution. 
"Gilbert,"  he  called,  suddenly,  "I'm  going  down 
there  and  defend  her  from  those  beasts." 

Frenson  was  not  surprised.  "I  reckon  that's 
your  little  stunt,"  he  retorted,  student-fashion, 
but  he  was  very  much  in  earnest,  nevertheless. 
'Tm  wondering  what  old  Boyden  will  say." 

Victor  believed  in  Professor  Boyden  and  hon 
ored  him,  but  at  the  moment  the  thought  of  fac 
ing  him  was  painful.  Boyden  was  one  of  those 
who  tested  the  human  soul  with  the  electric  bell, 
the  clock,  and  the  spymograph.  Delusions  were 
among  his  hobbies.  Hysteria  was  a  great  word 
with  him.  Man  lived  among  appearances.  Per 
sonality  was  not  a  unit,  but  an  aggregate,  lia 
ble  to  disassociation,  and  the  hysterical  girl  was 
capable  of  deceiving  the  very  elect.  To  him, 
mediumship  was  merely  the  sign  of  immorality 
or  epilepsy. 

A  part  of  this  disrupting  philosophy  had  en 
tered  Victor's  head,  and  as  he  slowly  and 
minutely  re-read  that  cruel  newspaper  analysis 
of  his  sweet  and  gentle  mother  he  was  startled, 
but  a  little  comforted  by  the  thought  that  she 
might  be  the  victim  of  her  subconscious  self, 

8 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

''She  can't  mean  to  cheat.  Of  that  I  am  cer 
tain.  But  she  needs  me  just  the  same.  I'm 
going  to  earn  her  living  and  mine  in  some  honest 
way." 

Two  or  three  of  his  most  intimate  friends  came 
up  after  breakfast  and  started  in  to  chaff,  but, 
being  far  past  the  stage  of  evasion,  Victor 
frankly  confessed  his  relationship  to  the  medium 
and  hotly  defended  her,  ending  by  mournfully, 
declaring  his  intention  of  leaving  school  at  once 
and  forever. 

Thereupon,  his  visitors  also  became  very 
serious,  perceiving  the  tumult  of  doubt  and 
despair  into  which  he  had  been  thrown,  and  one 
by  one  they  fell  into  awkward  silence  and  slipped 
away,  leaving  him  alone  with  Frenson,  who  had 
been  giving  the  most  careful  thought  to  the 
whole  situation. 

"Of  course  the  fellow  who  wrote  this  article 
had  his  own  private  grouch.  Any  one  can  see 
that.  And  your  friends  are  not  going  to  con 
demn  your  mother  on  what  he  says.  But  all  the 
same,  you're  wound  up  pretty  tight,  Vic;  there's 
no  two  ways  about  that.  According  to  your  own 
statement  she  does  claim  to  hear  voices,  and  she 
does  claim  to  give  messages  from  the  dead. 
Now,  I'm  not  saying  all  this  is  impossible,  but 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Boyden  and  his 
kind  say  'Nitsky'  to  the  whole  business." 

"I  don't  care  what  she's  done,"  retorted  Vic 
tor  ;  ' '  she  has  stood  by  me  like  a  brick  all  these 

9 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

years,  and  now  it's  up  to  me  to  do  something  for 
her  when  she's  in  trouble." 

Frenson  admitted  that  this  was  a  human  and 
righteous  resolution  on  the  part  of  his  chum  and 
offered  to  help  in  any  possible  way. 

Victor,  too  full  of  grief  and  despair  to  think 
clearly,  went  about  his  packing  with  swollen 
throat.  There  was  keen  pain  in  the  thought  of 
abandoning  this  bright  room,  of  discarding  all 
his  trophies,  books,  and  pictures,  but  this  he  did, 
putting  nothing  into  his  trunk  but  his  clothing 
and  a  few  photographs  of  his  dearest  girl  friends. 
' '  What's  the  use  ?"  he  said  to  Frenson.  ' '  It's  me 
to  the  spade  or  the  ice-tongs,  now.  I  won't  need 
these  things  any  more.  It's  battle  in  the  arena 
of  trade  for  Vic  from  this  time  on." 

Frenson  looked  around  at  the  little  library. 
"Well,  I'll  hold  them  together  for  a  while. 
Maybe  you'll  be  able  to  come  back  and  graduate, 
after  all." 

"Never!  Don't  you  see  I  can't  take  another 
cent  of  my  mother's  money  now  that  I  know 
how  it's  earned?" 

Frenson  listened  unexcitedly.  "Well,  now, 
suppose  these  voices  should  turn  out  to  be  real  ? 
Suppose  these  messages  have  been  from  the 
dead?" 

"It  wouldn't  make  any  difference." 
"Oh  yes,  it  would.     At  least  it  would  to  me. 
Scientific  men  have  been  against  a  whole  lot  of 
things  in  the  past  that  turned  out  to  be  true. 

10 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

Natural  selection,  for  instance,  and  X-rays  and 
the  wireless  telephone. " 

"I  see  your  drift,  Gil.  You  want  to  be  a  com 
fort  to  me,  but  I've  been  digging  down  into  my 
memory,  and  I  know  now  that  my  mother  has 
been  trained  into  these  habits,  these  delusions, 
for  over  twenty  years.  It  won't  be  an  easy 
thing  to  get  her  out  of  them.  She  is  as  much 
deceived  as  the  rest.  I  am  sure  of  that." 

' 'Well,  why  don't  you  experiment  with  her? 
Make  a  test,"  suggested  Frenson. 

"Would  you  experiment  with  your  own 
mother?"  asked  Victor. 

"I'd  make  a  case  out  of  my  grandmother  if  as 
much  hinged  on  her  as  swings  on  this  question  of 
your  mother's  honesty.  You  can't  blink  these 
charges,  Vic,  they'll  have  to  be  met  if  she  remains 
in  the  city." 

Victor  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then 
broke  out  again.  "Gil,  I  begin  to  understand 
a  hundred  things  that  have  always  seemed 
queer  to  me.  She  has  kept  me  away  from  her 
because  she  knew  I  would  not  sanction  her  way 
of  earning  money.  Why,  I  haven't  slept  in  her 
house  but  once  since  I  was  ten  years  old,  and 
that  was  just  before  I  entered  here.  I  hated 
where  she  lived;  it  was  a  ratty  little  hole  down 
on  the  south  side,  and  the  people  with  her  were 
sloppy  Sals.  I  refused  to  stay  a  second  night. 
I  can  see  it  all  now.  She  was  living  there  in  that 
way  to  save  money  for  me,  to  keep  me  here, 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

She  wanted  me  to  have  just  as  good  a  chance  as 
any  of  the  rest  of  you.  This  room,  the  clothes 
I  have  on,  my  trinkets,  everything  came  from 
her,  and  now  there's  no  telling  what  may  happen 
to  her.  That  article  threatens  all  kinds  of  perse 
cution.  I  ought  to  be  there  this  minute.  I 
must  take  the  very  next  train." 

"I  guess  you're  right  there,  old  man.  It's 
likely  to  be  a  pretty  exciting  day  for  her.  This 
article  is  apt  to  bring  all  kinds  of  trouble  to  her 
as  well  as  to  you." 

The  news  that  Victor  Ollnee  was  the  son  of  a 
notorious  medium  ran  rapidly  among  his  class 
mates,  and  while  they  honored  him  and  prized 
his  skill  on  the  team,  they  felt  a  certain  resent 
ment  toward  him.  Some  of  them  thought  he 
had  not  been  quite  honest  with  them,  and  a 
violent  controversy  was  thundering  in  the  dining- 
room  as  Frenson  re-entered  it  at  one  o'clock.  He 
took  Victor's  part,  of  course.  "He  can't  help 
what  his  mother's  done,"  he  argued.  "He 
didn't  choose  his  mother.  Why  slam  into  Vic  ?' ' 

"We  aren't  slamming  into  him.  We're  sorry 
for  him,"  responded  one  of  the  fellows. 

"But  we  don't  see  how  we  can  afford  to  have 
him  in  the  frat,"  said  another.  "He's  a  ripping 
good  fellow  and  a  wonder  at  the  bat,  but  what 
can  we  do  ?  He  should  have  told  us  about  him 
self.  ^  The  paper  here  says  that  his  mother  makes 
a  giving  by  cheating  people,  by  tapping  spirit 
wires  and  blowing  horns  and  hearing  voices  in 

12 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

the  dark:  and  all  that  shady  business  is  sure  to 
reflect  on  us.  He's  a  marked  man  which  ever 
way  you  look  at  it.  You'll  see  everybody 
rubber-necking  over  our  fence  to-day.  They've 
begun  it  already." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  a  third  man.  "Why 
didn't  he  tell  us  the  truth  before  we  voted  him 
inhere?" 

Frenson  explained.  "He's  been  telling  me  all 
about  it.  He  says  he  didn't  know  his  mother 
was  earning  her  money  that  way." 

"That's  the  part  that  looks  queer  to  us," 
accused  the  opposition.  "How  could  he  help 
knowing  it  ?  Looks  to  us  as  if  he'd  been  cover 
ing  it  up  all  along.  This  writer  says  the  woman 
is  a  regular  'battle-ax." 

The  current  was  setting  strongly  against  Vic 
tor,  and  Frenson,  seeing  this,  rose  to  go.  "Well, 
there's  no  need  of  taking  action.  Poor  Vic  is 
heart-broken  over  the  whole  business  and  is 
leaving  on  the  three-o'clock  train." 

This  silenced  even  his  critics.  They  began  to 
remember  what  a  jolly  good  fellow  he  was,  and 
how  important  his  work  in  "the  diamond"  had 
been.  It  was  all  very  sad  business,  and  they 
relented.  "We  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  him," 
they  said. 

Frenson  went  up  to  Victor.  "See  here,  Cap 
tain,  you  must  be  hungry.  I'll  push  a  tray  for 
you  if  you  don't  feel  like  going  down  among 
those  '  Indians.'  I'll  have  to  be  honest  with  you. 

13 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

They're  all  up  in  the  air  down  there  and  howling 
something  fierce.  I  reckon  I'd  better  hustle  a 
turkey-leg  for  you." 

"I  wish  you  would,  Gil.  I  can't  bear  to  see 
any  one  but  you.  If  I  can,  I  want  to  sneak  out 
and  get  to  the  train  without  catching  anybody's 
eye.  All  I  need  now  is  to  kill  that  reporter.  He 
has  smashed  my  world,  sure  thing,  and  I  may 
find  my  poor  little  mother  crushed  under  it, 
too."  He  tore  the  paper  into  little  bits,  snarling 
through  his  set  teeth.  "The  fellows  may  be 
lieve  what  they  please.  I've  done  with  them 
all.  They're  all  against  me  but  you,  I  can  see 
that." 

Frenson  got  out  his  pipe  and  filled  it  while 
his  partner  raged  up  and  down  the  room.  At 
last  he  said:  "Now,  Vickie,  when  you  get  calmed 
down  you  just  remember  that  you've  a  lot  of 
mighty  good  friends  up  here.  There'll  be  dozens 
of  them  that  this  thing  won't  change  a  lit 
tle  bit.  They'll  talk,  but  they'll  be  sympa 
thetic." 

Victor's  wrath  burned  itself  out  at  last,  and  he 
consented  to  Frenson's  bringing  the  tray  of  food. 
But  he  declined  to  go  down-stairs  till  the  time 
came  to  start  for  the  train. 

As  they  were  crossing  the  hall  they  met  little 
Macey,  who,  with  a  startled  look  in  his  eyes, 
intercepted  Victor's  passage.  "I'm  awfully 
sorry,  Vic,"  he  began.  "I  wish  I  could  do  some 
thing  for  you." 


VICTOR  READS  THE  FATEFUL  STAR 

There  was  something  so  sincere  and  mov 
ing  in  his  tone  that  Victor's  stern  mood  melt 
ed.  His  voice  grew  husky  as  he  tried  to 
jocularly  reply.  "Never  mind,  Sissy,  I'm 
down,  but  I'm  not  out.  Good -by  till  next 
time." 

"That's  the  spirit,"  cheered  Frenson  from  the 
doorway. 

Out  on  the  walk  a  couple  of  the  older  fraternity 
men  stood  talking  in  low  voices  (of  Victor,  of 
course),  and  as  they  fell  apart  one  of  them  had 
the  grace  to  say :  * '  Don't  stay  away  too  long,  Vic. 
We'll  need  you  Saturday." 

Victor  waved  a  hand.  "I  hope  you'll  be 
here  when  I  return,"  he  retorted;  but  as  he  en 
tered  the  hack  (which  Frenson  had  provided,  as 
though  he  were  taking  an  invalid  or  a  lady  to  the 
train)  his  composure  utterly  gave  way.  "I 
could  have  stood  it  if  the  boys  hadn't  welched," 
he  sobbed.  "But  they  did;  you  can't  fool  me. 
They  threw  me  down  hard." 

"Some  of  them  did,"  admitted  Frenson.  "But 
they  were  the  hollow  ones.  The  solid  chaps  are 
all  right  yet." 

"I  can't  blame  them  very  much.  If  they  be 
lieve  all  that  stuff  about  my  mother  and  think 
that  I  knew  it,  why  of  course  they're  right  in 
feeling  as  they  do." 

At  the  train  the  loyal  Frenson  said,  ' '  Well  now, 
Vic,  if  you  need  help  any  time  you  let  me  know 
and  I'll  come  galloping." 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"  That's  real  bold  in  you,  Gil,  and  if  I  get 
where  I  can't  see  my  way  out  I'll  shout." 

And  so  they  parted — Victor  with  a  feeling  that 
their  companionship  was  ended  forever,  Gilbert 
with  a  sense  of  having  failed  of  his  intent  to  com 
fort  and  sustain. 


II 

VICTOR   INTERROGATES    HIS    MOTHER 

ONCE  on  the  train,  with  the  towers  of  the 
university  building  out  of  sight,  Victor's 
mind  went  forward  toward  the  great  city  whereto 
he  was  now  hurrying  in  the  spirit  of  one  about  to 
enter  a  tiger-haunted  jungle.  Hitherto  he  had 
been  unafraid  of  its  tumult,  for  there  his  mother 
lived.  Her  home,  vague  of  outline  as  it  was, 
offered  refuge  from  the  thunder  and  the  shouting. 
But  now  its  shelter  was  worse  than  useless,  for 
its  lintel  was  marked  with  a  sign  of  shame  and 
terror,  and  this  the  law  and  the  lawless  knew 
equally  well. 

"How  will  she  seem  to  me  now,"  he  asked 
himself.  "What  will  she  say  to  me  when  we 
meet?" 

On  one  point  he  was  sternly  resolved.  "She 
must  leave  the  city  at  once.  We  will  go  West 
somewhere.  I  will  earn  our  living  now."  And 
at  the  moment  earning  a  living  seemed  easy. 

The  close  of  a  beautiful  spring  day  was  spread 
ing  over  the  town  as  he  made  his  way  up  the 
stairway  into  the  unwonted  silence  of  the 

17 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

thoroughfare.  The  wind  was  from  the  east, 
clean  and  cool  and  sweet.  As  he  looked  down  at 
the  river  from  the  bridge  and  marked  its  water 
flowing  swiftly  from  the  lake  toward  the  splendid 
sunset  sky  he  exulted  over  the  power  of  man,  of 
science,  to  reverse  the  natural  current  of  a 
stream.  "So  must  I  change  the  whole  course  of 
my  mother's  life,"  he  thought  with  returning 
resolution.  "It  must  be  done.  It  can  be  done. 
It's  all  in  the  will." 

The  hit-or-miss  squalor  of  California  Avenue 
filled  him  with  renewed  and  augmented  disgust 
as  he  descended  from  the  car  at  the  corner  and 
began  his  search  for  his  mother's  apartment, 
which  was  the  top  story  of  a  shabby  wooden 
building  standing  between  two  shops.  The 
stairway  reeked  with  associations  of  poverty,  a 
shifty  poverty,  and  Victor's  gorge  rose  at  it.  The 
second  flight,  though  cleaner,  was  musty  with 
decaying  wood,  and  the  doorway — on  which  a 
dim  card  was  tacked — sadly  needed  paint.  He 
began  to  realize  sharply  the  sacrifices  which  had 
enabled  him  to  live  in  the  care-free  comfort  of 
his  chapter-house,  and  his  heart  softened. 

After  knocking  twice  without  obtaining  a  re 
sponse  he  tried  the  knob.  It  yielded  and  he  went 
in.  All  was  silent  and  dim.  For  an  instant  he 
hesitated.  ' '  Perhaps  I'm  in  the  wrong  pew  after 
all,"  he  thought;  but  as  he  looked  about  him  he 
recognized  the  ghost-room  furniture  of  his  boy 
hood.  On  the  wall  was  a  familiar  picture — the 

18 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

crayon  portrait  of  a  black- whiskered  man.  The 
same  old  battered  walnut  table  which  he  re 
membered  so  well  occupied  one  corner,  and  be 
hind  it  three  long  tin  cones  stood  upright  on 
their  larger  ends.  He  shivered  with  disgust  at 
them  and  turned  to  the  lounge,  over  which, 
scattered  as  if  by  a  gale  of  wind,  lay  the  leaves 
of  the  hated  Sunday  edition  of  the  Star.  All  else 
was  neat  and  tidy,  though  threadbare  with  use. 
It  was,  indeed,  very  far  from  being  "the  gilded 
den  of  vice"  which  the  reporter  had  depicted. 

Oppressed  by  the  silence,  Victor  called  out, 
"Mother,  are  you  here?" 

He  thought  he  heard  a  voice,  a  husky  whisper, 
say,  "Go  to  her"  \  and,  a  little  surprised  by  this, 
he  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  bedroom  and 
peered  in.  There,  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  half 
hid  in  the  gloaming,  sat  his  mother  with  closed 
eyes  and  a  gray- white  face. 

"Mother,  are  you  sick?"  he  cried  out,  starting 
toward  her. 

Again  the  whisper  in  the  air  close  to  his  ear 
commanded  him:  "Stay  where  you  are.  Do  not 
touch  her.1' 

"Mother,  don't  you  know  me?     It  is  Victor." 

The  whisper  answered:  "Your  mother  is  rest 
ing.  We  are  treating  her.  Be  patient;  she  will 
awaken  soon" 

For  a  moment  Victor's  heart  failed  him,  so 
impressive  was  this  whisper,  issuing  apparently 
from  the  empty  air.  Then  a  flood  of  rage  swept 

19 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

ever  him.  This  Voice  was  one  of  the  tricks 
charged  against  her  by  the  paper.  "Mother, 
stop  that !  I  won't  have  it.  Do  you  hear  me  ? 
Stop  it,  I  say!" 

The  sleeper  stirred  and  her  eyes  opened,  but 
no  sign  of  recognition  was  in  them.  Slowly  her 
stiffened  hands  withdrew  from  the  arms  of  her 
chair  and  clasped  themselves  in  her  lap.  Her 
cheeks,  puffed  and  pallid,  were  rigid  and  her  eyes, 
turned  upward  and  inward,  gleamed  coldly.  The 
lids  were  half -closed.  She  had  a  horribly  un 
familiar,  tortured  look,  and  he  started  toward  her, 
calling  upon  her  in  a  voice  of  anxiety.  * '  Mother, 
what  is  the  matter  ?  Don't  you  hear  me  ?" 

At  last  she  opened  her  eyes  and  a  thrill  of  relief 
ran  through  him  as  he  caught  a  gleam  of  recogni 
tion  there.  She  lifted  her  hands  feebly,  whisper 
ing,  "My  boy,  my  precious  boy!" 

Kneeling  by  her  side,  he  waited  for  her  con 
sciousness  to  come  back.  Her  hands,  so  cold 
and  nerveless,  grew  warmer,  her  lips  smiled 
wearily,  yet  with  divine  maternal  tenderness, 
and  at  last  she  spoke.  "My  big,  splendid  boy! 
I  knew  you  would  not  desert  me.  I  knew  it; 
I  knew  it.  I  prayed  for  you." 

"I  came  by  the  very  first  train,"  he  answered, 
"and  I  am  here  to  defend  you." 

A  loud  knocking  at  the  door  startled  her  and 
she  clasped  his  hand  tightly  as  she  whispered: 
"That  is  another  of  my  enemies.  All  day  they 
have  been  coming.  Send  them  away." 

20 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

He  put  her  hands  down  and  rose  tensely. 
4 'I'll  smash  their  faces,"  he  hotly  declared. 

"Don't  be  rash,  Victor,  please." 

He  strode  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  A  dark, 
handsome  young  woman  and  a  grinning  youth 
stood  without.  They  were  both  a  little  dashed 
by  Victor's  appearance  as  he  queried,  with 
scowling  brow,  "What  do  you  want?" 

The  man  replied,  "We  came  to  have  a  sitting." 

Victor  exploded.  ' '  Get  out , "  he  shouted.  ' '  If 
you  come  back  here  again  I'll  throw  you  down 
the  stairs."  Thereupon  he  slammed  the  door 
in  their  faces  and  returned  to  his  mother. 

"We've  got  to  get  away  from  here,"  he  said  as 
he  came  to  her.  "We  can't  stay  here  another 
day." 

"That  must  be  as  my  guide,  your  grandfather, 
says,"  she  replied. 

"There's  no  use  talking  like  that  to  me, 
mother.  You've  got  to  stop  this  business.  I 
won't  have  any  more  of  it.  It's  shameful,  and 
I  won't  have  it." 

She  answered,  gently :  "  I'm  under  orders,  Vic 
tor.  I  can  do  nothing  in  opposition  to  The 
Voices." 

He  bent  over  her  with  knitted  brow.  "See 
here,  mother,  I  want  you  to  understand  that  this 
medium  business  has  got  to  be  cut  out.  Look 
what  it  has  let  you  in  for!  I  don't  believe  in 
your  Voices,  and  you  must — " 

She  stopped  him.     "My  son,  if  you  do  not 

3  21 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

believe  in  The  Voices  you  cannot  believe  in  me. 
They  are  real.  If  they  were  not,  I  should  go 
mad.  They  are  in  my  ears  all  day  long.  My 
comfort  is  that  they  are  not  imaginary.  Others 
hear  them,  and  that  proves  to  me  that  they  are 
not  an  illusion.  If  you  listen  they  will  speak  to 
you." 

"I  don't  want  them  to  speak  to  me.  I  want 
you  to  pack  up — " 

' '  Hark !' '  she  commanded.  ' '  They  are  speak 
ing  now." 

As  he  listened,  the  same  measured  whisper 
which  he  had  heard  upon  entering  the  house  made 
itself  distinctly  heard,  apparently  in  the  air,  a 
little  higher  than  his  mother's  head.  "Boy, 
trust  in  us!" 

Victor  glanced  at  his  mother's  lips.  He  could 
not  help  it;  base  as  it  seemed,  he  suspected  her 
of  ventriloquism.  "Who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"Your  grandsire,  Nelson  Blodgett." 

This  reply,  apparently  without  his  mother's 
agency,  was  uttered  in  so  plain  a  tone  that 
Victor's  hair  rose.  He  opened  and  peered  into 
a  little  closet  which  stood  behind  his  mother's 
chair.  It  was  empty,  and  as  he  came  slowly  back 
and  stood  looking  down  into  her  face  a  low, 
breathy  chuckle  sounded  in  his  ear. 

"A  smart  lad.     Needs  discipline" 

A  flush  of  rage  passed  over  him,  leaving  him 
cold.  He  studied  his  mother  in  silence,  con 
vinced  that  she  was  cunningly  playing  upon  his 

22 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

fears.  As  he  pondered  she  said,  quietly:  "I'm 
glad  you  came,  Victor.  You  fill  my  heart  with 
joy;  but  you  must  not  stay.  I  do  not  need  you. 
You  must  go  back  to  your  studies." 

"That  I  cannot  do." 

"Oh,  Victor,  you  must!  I  want  you  to  grad 
uate.  Father  insists  on  it." 

"I  tell  you  it  is  impossible.  Do  you  suppose 
I'm  going  back  there  where  all  the  fellows  are 
laughing  at  me  ?  Why,  they're  talking  of  throw 
ing  me  out  of  the  club !  More  than  that,  I  can't 
take  another  cent  of  your  money.  If  I  had 
known  how  you  were  earning  your  living  I 
would  never  have  entered  the  university  at 
all." 

"Oh,  my  boy,  do  you  doubt  me?  Do  you  be 
lieve  what  they  say  against  me.?" 

This  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  whole 
problem.  "Of  course  I  don't  believe  that  you 
cheat — purposely — but  I  do  think  you  are  ab 
normal.  You  can't  expect  me  to  believe  that  a 
voice  can  come  out  of  the  air  like  that.  It's  im 
possible  !  It's  against  all  reason,  and  yet— 

At  this  moment  another  knock,  a  gentler  sig 
nal,  sounded  at  the  door,  and  the  youth,  relieved 
by  the  interruption,  flared  out  at  the  unknown 
intruder.  "Go  away,"  he  shouted. 

"No,  no;  these  are  friends,"  his  mother  as 
serted,  and  rose  to  let  them  in. 

Victor  caught  her  by  the  arm.  ' '  What  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

23 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Open  the  door.  It  is  one  of  my  dearest 
friends." 

"You  must  not  give  a  sitting.     I  won't  have 

it." 

The  knock  was  repeated  and  she  hurried  away, 
leaving  the  boy  confused,  angry,  and  helpless. 

She  returned,  accompanied  by  two  women. 
The  first  of  them  was  a  diminutive,  gray-haired 
lady,  with  a  frank  and  smiling  face,  whose  dress 
proclaimed  a  prosperous  and  happy  station  in 
life.  Her  companion  was  a  tall  young  girl,  whose 
spring  suit,  quiet  in  color  and  exquisitely  tailored, 
became  her  notably.  The  youth  thought,  ' '  What 
a  stylish  girl !"  And  the  sight  of  her  calmed  him 
instantly. 

"Victor,"  said  his  mother,  and  her  tone  was 
one  of  relief,  "these  are  my  dearest  friends, 
Mrs.  Joyce  and  Leonora  Wood,  her  niece." 

Victor  bowed  without  speaking,  for  the  heart 
of  battle  was  still  in  him. 

Mrs.  Joyce  cried  out :  '  *  What  a  fine,  big  fellow ! 
I  didn't  expect  such  a  stalwart  son." 

"Please  be  seated,"  said  Mrs.  Ollnee.  "My 
son  has  just  arrived.  He  saw  that  dreadful 
article  in  the  paper  and  came  to  defend  me." 

"That  was  fine  of  you,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Joyce 
to  Victor.  "That  same  article  brought  us.  I 
would  have  been  here  before  only  we  don't  take 
the  Star,  and  I  did  not  see  the  article  until  about 
an  hour  ago." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  took  up  her  explanation.  "But, 
24 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

Louise,  Victor  says  he  will  not  go  back  to 
college." 

Mrs.  Joyce  was  quick  to  apprehend  the  situa 
tion.  ''I  suppose  that  outrageous  article  made 
it  appear  necessary  for  you  to  defend  both  your 
mother  and  yourself,"  she  said,  searchingly. 

Victor  was  not  disposed  to  gloze  matters  in  the 
least.  "It  made  a  fool  of  me,"  he  responded, 
bitterly.  ''It  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  look 
my  friends  in  the  face.  How  could  I  convince 
them  that  I  was  not  sharing  in  the  profits  of  my 
mother's  business?  I  told  them  I  didn't  know 
where  my  allowance  came  from,  but  of  course 
no  one  believed  me.  I  know  now,  and  I  despise 
the  whole  business.  I've  come  down  here  to 
take  my  mother  out  of  it." 

The  three  women  looked  at  one  another  sym 
pathetically.  Mrs.  Joyce,  who  knew  Mrs.  Oil- 
nee' s  history  intimately,  only  smiled  as  she 
answered:  "I  don't  see  that  you  need  to  feel 
ashamed  of  your  mother's  profession.  A  me 
dium  is  one  of  the  most  precious  instruments  in 
this  world.  She  brings  solace  to  many  a  sorrow 
ing  heart.  Why  is  her  work  less  honorable  than 
singing,  for  example?  Furthermore,  no  one  is 
obliged  to  come  to  her.  We  sit  of  our  own 
choice,  and  if  we  are  not  pleased  we  can  refuse 
to  pay,  and  we  need  not  return.  So  you  see  it 
is  a  free  contract,  after  all." 

Her  reasoning  staggered  Victor.  He  was  con 
fused  also  by  her  frank  and  charming  manner. 

25 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

He  perceived  that  his  problem  was  not  so  simple 
as  he  had  imagined.  Hitherto,  his  life  had  been 
single-hearted,  with  nothing  more  difficult  to  de 
cide  than  a  question  of  moral  philosophy;  but 
here,  now,  he  stood  confronted  by  an  entirely 
baffling  entanglement  of  human  wills.  This 
woman,  so  evidently  of  the  higher  world  of 
wealth  and  culture,  accepted  his  mother's  claims, 
and  this  profoundly  impressed  him. 

Mrs.  Joyce  continued.  '  *  Don't  take  this  news 
paper  attack  too  seriously,  Mr.  Ollnee.  It  was 
meant  to  be  nasty,  and  it  is  nasty;  but  it  is  not 
fatal.  It  is  a  cloud  that  will  soon  blow  over  and 
leave  you  and  your  mother  unharmed." 

4 'It  will  never  blow  over  for  me,"  he  replied, 
passionately,  "and  you  must  not  include  me  in 
this  thing.  I've  lived  a  long  way  from  it  thus 
far,  and  I  don't  intend  to  mix  up  with  this  kind 
of  hokus-pokus." 

"Victor,"  called  his  mother,  warningly. 

He  corrected  himself.  "Of  course  I  don't  ac 
cuse  you  of  wilfully  deceiving  anybody.  I'm 
willing  to  grant  that  you  think  these  Voices  are 
real;  but  my  teacher,  Doctor  Boyden,  says  that 
mediumship  is  only  a  kind  of  hysteria — " 

Mrs.  Joyce  laughed.  "Yes,  I've  read  Doctor 
Boyden's  books.  What  does  he  know  about  it  ? 
Did  he  ever  study  a  wonderful  psychic  like 
your  mother?  Has  he  candidly  examined  these 
phenomena?  Never  in  his  life!  I  know  all 
about  that  kind  of  investigator.  He  is  basing 

26 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

his  conclusions  on  somebody's  else's  conjectures 
or  prejudices." 

Victor  defended  his  master.  '  *  He  has  tried  to 
experiment.  He's  offered  prizes  for  mediums  to 
meet  him,  but  they  have  refused.  Not  one 
would  sit  with  him." 

"Why  should  they?  Would  you  have  your 
mother  seek  him  out  to  convince  him?  Why 
doesn't  he  come  to  her.  There  he  sits  in  his 
chair,  pretending  to  say  that  these  phenomena 
are  impossible,  whereas  I  know,  from  many  per 
sonal  tests,  that  these  voices  are  not  merely  real, 
but  that  they  come  from  my  dear  ones  on  the 
other  side  and  that  they  sustain  and  comfort 


me." 


Victor  was  silenced,  and  his  discomfiture  was 
made  the  more  complete  by  the  smiling  gaze  of 
the  young  girl,  who  was  evidently  enjoying  his 
perplexity.  Nevertheless,  though  he  did  not 
continue  the  argument,  he  held  to  his  opinion 
that  they  were  all  victims  of  his  mother's  un 
conscious  necromancy. 

Mrs.  Joyce  continued.  "You  say  you  know 
nothing  about  it.  Why  not  find  out  something 
about  it?  Here  is  your  mother.  Study  her." 

"Why  don't  we  have  a  sitting  now  ?"  exclaimed 
Miss  Wood.  "It  would  be  fun  to  see  his  face 
when  the  horns  began  to  dance  about." 

Mrs.  Olnee  looked  a  little  worried.  ' '  Not  now, 
Leo,  I'm  too  upset.  It's  been  a  terrible  day  for 
me.  I  haven't  eaten  a  thing." 

27 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Mrs.  Joyce  rose.  "You  poor  dear!  Let's  go 
get  something.  Come  this  instant.  You'll  go, 
Mr.  Ollnee." 

His  first  impulse  was  to  refuse,  but  as  he 
studied  his  mother's  pale  face  and  thought  of  the 
good  effect  of  the  outside  air  he  relented.  "Yes, 
I'll  go,"  he  replied,  ungraciously. 

Miss  Wood  came  over  to  him  and  tried  to 
soften  his  mood.  ' '  I  know  how  you  feel  about  all 
this,  and  I  know  how  brutal  a  scientific  sharp  can 
be.  My  professors  were  all  against  it.  Just  the 
same,  it's  a  wonderful  old  world;  a  good  deal 
more  wonderful  than  some  of  our  teachers 
admit." 

He  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  stood  watching  his 
mother  as  she  put  on  her  hat  and  wrap.  Her 
whole  expression  had  changed.  Her  face  had 
lighted  up  and  her  delicacy  of  feature  and  small, 
graceful  hands  denoted  to  him  as  never  before 
the  woman  of  natural  refinement  and  intelligence. 
It  was  hard  to  consider  her  at  the  moment  the 
victim  of  a  brain  disorder,  and  yet — 

Mrs.  Joyce  led  the  way  down  the  creaking 
stairs,  and  Victor,  following  in  sullen  silence,  was 
surprised  and  a  little  daunted  to  find  a  luxurious 
automobile  waiting  for  them.  He  rebelled  at  the 
curb.  ' '  You  go  on  without  me, ' '  he  said,  harshly. 
"I'll  stay  here  till  you  come  back." 

"Oh  no,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Joyce.  "Please 
come  with  us.  Your  mother  will  not  be  happy 
without  you." 

28 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

Miss  Wood  remarked,  humorously,  "Never 
refuse  a  dinner  or  a  ride  in  a  motor-car;  that's 
my  motto." 

His  mother  timidly  lifted  her  face.  "Victor, 
Mrs.  Joyce  is  my  most  loyal  friend.  I  owe 
her  more  than  you  know.  I  wish  you  would 
come." 

He  yielded  with  a  sense  of  stepping  down,  but 
as  he  found  himself  seated  beside  Miss  Wood  and 
whirring  swiftly  up  the  street  his  inflexible  atti 
tude  softened.  ' '  For  this  one  night  I  will  follow ; 
after  that  I  lead,"  he  promised  himself. 

The  girl  mocked  him  with  subtle  intonation. 
"I  am  glad  of  any  mystery  and  romance  which 
remains  in  this  old  world,  and  I  never  quarrel 
with  fate.  If  any  one  is  disposed  to  exchange  an 
autocar  ride  for  so  intangible  a  thing  as  a  voice, 
I  trade." 

A  little  later  she  reverted  to  his  problem. 
"What  right  have  you  to  pass  judgment  on  your 
mother  without  examining  her?  I  was  just  as 
skeptical  as  you  are  when  I  met  her  first,  but  she 
forced  me  to  believe.  I  am  perfectly  certain 
that  she  would  upset  Doctor  Boyden.  If  he 
would  come  down  quietly  and  sit  with  her  she'd 
convince  even  him.  She  is  a  very  dear  little 
woman,  and  we  all  love  her." 

Mrs.  Joyce  leaned  over  and  spoke  in  his  ear. 
"It  is  only  through  devoted  beings  like  your 
mother  that  the  bereaved  are  assured  of  life 
everlasting.  She  doesn't  tell  me  that  my  son  is 

29 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

living  beyond  the  veil ;  she  brings  him  to  mo.     I 
hear  his  voice  and  touch  his  hand." 

To  this  sort  of  thing  he  was  forced  to  listen 
during  their  course  down  the  shining  avenue,  and 
it  made  the  whole  city  as  unreal  as  a  dream. 
When  they  rolled  up  to  the  wide  portals  of  a 
towering  hotel  a  new  anxiety  presented  itself. 
"Suppose  mother  should  be  recognized  as  we 
enter?  Suppose  they  arrest  her  here." 

A  realization  of  his  own  poverty  and  youth 
and  general  helplessness  came  over  him  with 
crushing  effect  as  he  trod  the  hall,  which  seemed 
very  vast  and  splendid  in  his  eyes.  He  was  sub 
dued,  too,  by  the  thought  that  he  had  not  silver 
enough  in  his  pocket  to  fee  the  girl  who  took 
their  wraps.  His  resolution  to  fight,  to  earn  not 
only  his  own  living  but  to  rescue  his  mother, 
became  fainter  each  moment.  "Can  it  be  that 
yesterday  I  was  behind  the  bat?"  he  asked  him 
self.  "Surely  I  must  be  dreaming." 

He  perceived  another  side  to  his  mother's 
character.  She  seemed  quite  at  ease  amid  all 
this  splendor,  and  accepted  whatever  Mrs.  Joyce 
did  for  her  as  something  quite  definitely  her  due. 

There  was  no  indication  of  the  Sabbath  in  the 
gorgeous  dining-room,  and  nothing  to  show  that 
sorrow  or  poverty  existed  in  the  world ;  and  see 
ing  his  mother's  face  flushed  with  pleasure,  the 
perplexed  youth  relented  a  little  further.  "This 
one  night  she  may  have,  but  it  must  be  the  last 
of  such  entertainment  on  such  terms." 

30 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

There  was  in  him  beneath  all  this  antagonism 
a  kind  of  dignity  and  manly  strength  which 
pleased  Mrs.  Joyce.  She  was  glad  to  see  him 
lighten  up,  and  she  exerted  herself  to  that  end. 
"There  now,"  she  said,  looking  about  the  room. 
' '  Let's  forget  all  of  our  troubles.  Let  us  suppose 
that  all  our  friends  'on  the  other  side'  are  at 
dinner  also." 

Victor  sat  in  silence  what  time  his  mother  de 
cided  whether  she  would  have  asparagus  soup 
or  consomme.  It  was  his  first  experience  with 
that  degree  of  wealth  which  takes  no  thought  of 
price,  and  glancing  at  the  figures  on  the  bill  of 
fare  his  hair  rose.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  eaten 
a  meal  which  cost  as  much  as  this  one  order  of 
soup,  and  the  fact  that  his  mother  gaily  ordered 
the  best  indicated  to  him  how  deeply  indebted 
she  already  was  to  her  patroness.  ''There  must 
be.  some  very  definite  need  which  she  supplies," 
he  conceded,  "or  Mrs.  Joyce  would  not  so  gladly 
pay  her  bills." 

At  the  same  time  his  respect  and  admiration  for 
his  mother  returned.  As  the  dinner  went  on 
her  cheeks  glowed  with  faint  color.  Her  years  of 
trouble  seemed  to  slip  away  from  her.  She  took 
on  youthful  grace  and  charm,  glancing  often  at 
her  handsome  son  with  eyes  of  maternal  pride 
and  content.  "It  is  so  good  to  have  you  here," 
she  silently  expressed.  He  had  never  seen  this 
care-free  side  of  her,  and  the  gayer  she  grew  the 
more  alien,  in  a  sense,  she  became.  She  was 

31 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

instinctively  the  lady,  of  that  he  was  assured,  and 
though  she  could  not  follow  Miss  Wood  in  all  of 
her  flights  of  fancy  and  allusion,  she  plainly 
showed  unusual  powers  of  appreciation. 

The  talk  also  brought  out  the  extraordinary 
intimacy  of  the  three  women.  It  appeared  that 
Mrs.  Joyce  and  Mrs.  Ollnee  were  inseparable, 
that  she  often  took  his  mother  to  the  opera  and 
to  the  theater,  and  as  they  discussed  various 
singers  and  actors,  whose  names  alone  he  knew, 
his  sense  of  being  suburban  deepened.  "Why 
does  this  vivid  and  cultured  woman  seek  my 
mother's  society?  For  what  reason  does  she 
lavish  money  upon  her?  Is  it  because  of  her 
personal  charm  ?  No,"  he  decided,  ' '  that  cannot 
be  the  reason."  Beneath  her  cordial  tone  he 
thought  he  detected  the  reserve  of  one  who  is 
being  kind  to  a  dependent.  "She's  being  nice 
to  mother,"  he  concluded,  "because  she  thinks 
she's  getting  something  special  from  her.  Mother 
is  a  freak,  not  a  friend.  She  considers  her  a  kind 
of  spiritual  telephone." 

Although  Miss  Wood  devoted  herself  to  the 
task  of  amusing  him,  and  his  face  lost  some  of  its 
gravest  lines,  yet  he  could  not  be  denoted  a 
careless  youth,  even  when  the  wine  came  on. 
He  was  thinking  too  deeply  to  be  outwardly 
ready  of  retort.  It  was  too  sudden  a  change 
from  the  pastoral  air  and  quiet  streets  of  Winona 
to  be  instantly  assimilated.  He  remained  sullen. 

His  mother  eyed  him  apprehensively  but  ad- 
32 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

miringly.  "He  looks  like  his  father,"  she  whis 
pered  to  Mrs.  Joyce. 

He  would  have  been  inhuman  had  he  not  re 
sponded  to  certain  charms  in  Miss  Wood.  She 
had  a  fine  profile,  he  admitted,  finer  than  that  of 
any  girl  he  knew.  Her  eyes,  too,  were  a  little  dis 
turbing  by  reason  of  the  small  wrinkles  of  laughter 
at  the  corners,  but  she  irritated  him.  She  was 
perfectly  sure  of  herself.  Nothing  that  he  did  or 
failed  to  do  affected  her  in  any  other  way  ap 
parently  than  to  deepen  her  amusement.  Her 
manner  seemed  to  say,  "Wait  a  few  days  and 
see  what  a  fool  you'll  find  yourself  out  to  be. 
You're  nothing  but  a  great  big  country  lad,  try 
ing  to  be  a  philosopher,  trying  to  live  up  to  a 
rigid  code  of  morals.  It's  all  a  pose,  a  ludicrous 
attitude  of  boyish  defiance. " 

She  said  nothing  of  this  of  course;  on  the  con 
trary,  she  talked  of  things  in  which  he  was  in 
terested,  trying  politely  to  meet  him  half  way. 
She  was  actually  a  year  or  two  younger  than  he, 
but  she  gave  off  the  air  of  being  five  years  older. 
She  had  explored  immense  tracts  of  human  life, 
or  at  least  of  social  life,  of  which  he  had  no 
knowledge,  and  this  came  out  in  her  casual 
references  to  New  York  and  Paris.  Her  home 
was  in  Los  Angeles,  but  she  was  now  staying 
with  her  aunt. 

He  lost  his  sullen  reserve.  The  soup,  the  wine, 
the  bird,  and  the  maid  softened  his  stern  mood. 
By  the  time  the  coffee  came  on  he  was  talking 

33 


VICTOR    OI.I.NI-I-'S 

.dm"  . I     I  „ ,    i  .hi  ,     v\  il  h    In  .    IP  c, 1. 1    ,:;   .UK!    lir,    |;irr 
had  I'  •  ,1   il '.  I  i  "ill  •!'  - 1  Ini' 

III-;  p.-ipl,-  il.ii  ,  <  ame  I.; irk  ;i  .  Mi  i  |»,<  e 
|>.r.  .- ••!  I  w< •  I  -ill  .  I-.  I  In-  wail.ei  in  p;i  yin<-nl  Im  I. heir 
dinner,  .'ui'l  In-  watehed  limn  MIC  COIIKT  "I  hi-; 
eye  l.o  •,!•«•  how  Mined  ih. Mr"  «  .niic  h.M'k.  Two 
(1oll;n:;!  ICij'Jil.cm  <l»||,ir;  Im  l-.m  diniiri  •.! 
"(irci'il  ScotI"  IK-  inw;irdly  i'm.'incd,  "Il<  wmiM 


Ami    ;i.    rd, in  mil"     ,-  n •,'•   n|    In-,    inol.liri  ';,   ;,II|,CI,M 

fU'i'nr,    mi'  |inl  y    lcrl.nl    linn    wil.ll   }'(lo(i|ll 

The   ii'l<-   li;iek    l<>  ( '.'ililoi  ni;i.   AVMIIC    vv;r;    l«    .  . 
re-ltive,     fin      Mr.       |oy<  c     took     oee;i.:;i.,n     In    -..iv 
"  My  ;id    i-  ••!:;!  hi:;       !\diii  n  l»  rol|.-jM-  ;HK|  o|, 
iriin  your  <l<  -n  c        I    will   !;i.kr  c;nr  n|    your  d.  .u 
hill.-  mother." 

"Ic.'.i.'l.dolh;.!,"  he:;;..i(|.      "  I'v<- (,inl..    Their 
i:;  no  u-;c  I. ill  ur-  ;il)on|    I  h.i!,." 

"  \'"ii  lihoiiMn'l  i.d  •    i  In  .  nev  ftpapei  ;il  l;i<  !    l,oo 

I-  in, u  I  •  .|     Mr/,    Wood  "  I',  porl,  ,   , 

:ilw;i     .     •     ).-.  .in"      in-  dim  n  ,  1 1      i  .     <|inl<- 

h;il.il  n.il    v\  i!  h    I  h>  in,    and    In-side^  yoill     ni"l  h.  i 
li.r,  !»(•(   il   Ilin  .ii"li    il    lirfoi  '     " 

I      lli.'il,    l.nie '"'    he    .r.l  .  d.    wil.li    sharpened 

;r/.;nill 

"  V.    ,,"    Mr;    Mil,,,  ,    ;idi..ill.  d         "  !'•  «•   IHM-M  .1! 
l.'irkrd    in    |  hr,  vv;i  y   I  wiee 

'•  ''IK  .      I    have    lieeil    -i"  •  n    up  •'" 
'  V«  •;  ,    OIK  -     -,ii  i    ••  .  nl    h.   Wni'. n. i    " 

"  I    didn't     I  ix.  v    thftl         Why    didn'l     yon    |,  || 

MK  •<" 

34 


VICTOR  INTNv'Kix.ATIiSIIISMOTIIFR 

Mr;     (nyer   interposed        "What    wa".  Ihe   use? 
You   eould    have  done  l)<  >l  IIID;',.       \\'e   \vh<>   under 
st.'ind    these    ma.t.t.ers    make    allowances    lor    I  he 
i  c|  M  H  I  n  ':;   trade,      lie   must  ea.rn   a.   livinv    some 
way 

As  she  said  this  Victor  recalled  the  cynical 
close  of  the  artiele.  "Probably  the  t. rue  blue 
believer  \\ill  condemn  the  detective  and  not  Ihe 
culprit ,"  the  lines  ran.  "There  are  dupes  so  pur 
blind,  so  infa.tiuit.ed  thai  nothing,  not  even  the 
boldest,  chicanery  can  shake  their  faith;  never 
theless,  a  few  will  lake  (his  article  for  what  il  is, 
n.  full  and  clear  expose  of  a.  shrewd  and  con- 
scieneeless  trickstei  "  And  yet,  .'is  he  faced 
these  intelligent  women.  Victor  could  not.  think 
of  (hem  MS  beiuj'  deceived  by  open  chicanery, 
much  less  eould  he  admit  for  a  moment,  that  his 
mot  her  was  capable  of  resort  i  in*  to  it .. 

It  was  a  drama  t  ie  and  mo\  ni",  experience  tor 
turn  to  v.o  from  this  cushioned,  splendid  chariot 
back  to  the  shabby  little  apartment  which  was 
the  only  home  in  the  wide  world  for  either  his 
mother  or  himself.  lie  was  tilled  with  a  kind  of 
rajyat  her,  at  fate,  and  at  himself,  and  no  sooner 
were  they  inside  t  he  door  (  han  he  I  urned  upon  her 
\\  i  (  h  a  note  of  resent  ful  resolut  ion  iu  his  voice. 

"Mother,  how  could  von  let  me  in  for  .ill  of 
tins  '  \Vhv  did  vou  send  me  to  college,  knowing 
that  soonei  01  l.itei  exposure  must  come 

"1  (rusted  the  voices,"  she  replied,  "just  as 
1  must  continue  to  trust  them  iu  the  future." 

35 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Now,  mother,"  he  rejoined  with  a  certain 
foreboding  grimness  of  inflection,  "we've  got  to 
get  right  down  to  brass  tacks  on  that  business.  I 
can't  go  on  any  longer  in  ignorance  of  who  I 
am  and  what  you  are.  I  want  to  know  all  about 
you  and  all  about  my  father.  Who  was  my 
father?  What  was  he?  Did  he  believe  in  this 
thing?" 

Her  eyes  fell.  "No,  not  while  he  was  on  this 
life's  plane.  Indeed,  it  was  my  'work'  that — 
that  separated  us.  He  hated  it  and  was  very 
harsh  about  it.  But  the  first  thing  he  did  after 
he  passed  on  was  to  come  back  and  tell  me  that 
I  was  right  after  all.  He  asked  me  to  forgive 
him." 

"Is  that  his  picture  up  there  on  the  wall? 
What  did  he  do  for  a  living?" 

"He  was  a  really  fine  mind,  Victor;  one  of 
those  men  who  might  have  been  eminent  had 
they  gone  out  into  the  world.  He  was  a  student 
and  a  thinker,  but  he  was  not  ambitious.  He 
was  content  to  be  the  principal  of  a  village  school 
and  live  quietly;  and  we  were  very  happy  till 
The  Voices  began." 

"Did  he  know  you  had  The  Voices  when  he 
married  you?" 

"Yes,  I  told  him  all  about  them,  but  he  only 
laughed  at  me.  I  suppose  he  thought  it  was  just 
a  fancy  on  my  part.  Anyhow,  he  did  not  take 
them  seriously,  and  during  our  courtship  they 
gave  me  freedom.  My  guide  said  I  need  not  sit 

36 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

for  a  while  and  father  guarded  me  from  all  the 
evil  ones  on  that  side  who  are  so  ready  to  rush 
in  and  take  possession  of  a  medium.  For  two 
years  I  had  no  touch  of  'the  power,'  and  I  really 
thought  it  had  all  gone  away  from  me.  Then 
you  came  and  I  was  very  ill,  and  father,  my  con 
trol,  returned  to  tell  me  that  you  would  be  a 
great  man.  'Hereafter,'  he  said,  'I  will  direct 
you  in  the  education  of  your  son.'  Why,  Victor, 
he  named  you.  He  said  you  should  be  called 
Victor  because  you  would  overcome  all  op 
position." 

"Well,  just  how  did  your  separation  come 
about?" 

"When  my  control  began  to  demand  things 
from  me  your  father  accused  me  of  playing 
tricks  and  sternly  forbade  any  more  of  it.  I 
tried  not  to  go  into  trance.  I  fought  '  the  power ' 
and  this  angered  father.  He  came  upon  me  so 
strong  that  I  could  do  nothing  with  him.  I 
heard  The  Voices  all  the  time  and  your  father 
thought  me  crazy.  I  had  what  seemed  like 
epileptic  fits.  I  seemed  to  lose  my  identity — 
but  I  didn't;  I  knew  all  that  was  going  on.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  went  out  of  my  body  while  others 
entered  it  and  used  it  to  torment  and  perplex 
your  father.  Then  he  became  convinced  that  I 
was  abnormal  in  some  way  and  experimented 
with  me — all  in  a  very  skeptical  spirit — and 
gradually  he  lost  his  regard  for  me.  I  became 
only  'a  case  of  hysteria'  to  him.  I  could  see  him 
4  37 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

change  from  day  to  day.  He  grew  colder  and 
more  critical  and  more  aloof  all  the  time.  This 
made  me  so  ill  that  I  was  unable  to  keep  my  feet 
—I  grew  old  rapidly,  and  another  younger  and 
prettier  woman,  one  of  his  teachers,  gained  the 
love  I  had  lost  and  at  last  he  went  away  with 
her." 

There  was  a  little  silence  before  Victor  was 
able  to  ask,  "Where  did  he  go?" 

"He  went  to  Denver,  and  I  never  saw  him 
again.  He  died  not  long  after." 

"Then  did  you  take  to  making  a  living  out  of 
the  ghost-room?" 

"After  your  father  left  I  asked  my  guides  why 
they  permitted  him  to  leave  me,  and  they  said 
it  was  considered  necessary  to  keep  me  in  'the 
work/  'You  were  too  happy,'  they  said.  'You 
are  too  valuable  an  instrument  to  live  out  your 
life  simply  as  wife  and  mother.  You  are  now 
to  be  devoted  to  higher  aims.'  Since  then  when 
ever  I  have  tried  to  get  out  of  'the  work'  they 
have  brought  me  back.  Oh,  you  don't  know 
what  a  clutch  they  have  on  me.  They  know  my 
income  to  a  dollar.  They  let  me  have  just 
enough  to  live  on  and  to  educate  you,  but  they 
won't  let  my  rich  friends  provide  me  with  an 
income.  I  must  do  their  will  exactly  or  they 
punish  me." 

As  she  enlarged  upon  this  phase  of  her  life 
Victor  was  appalled  by  it.  Her  madness — and 
madness  it  seemed  to  him — was  now  a  settled 

38 


VICTOR  INTERROGATES  HIS  MOTHER 

and  specific  part  of  her  life.     "How  do  they 
punish  you?"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"They  do  not  hesitate  to  throw  me  into  con 
vulsions,  or  make  me  do  things  that  rob  me  of 
my  friends.  They  bring  disaster  upon  me  when 
ever  I  try  to  walk  my  own  road.  Every  invest 
ment  I  make  on  my  own  judgment  they  defeat. 
Did  you  ever  plague  an  ant  or  a  bug  by  putting 
something  in  its  way,  checking  its  advance,  no 
matter  in  which  direction  it  went?" 

He  nodded.     "Yes,  I've  done  that  as  a  boy." 

"Well,  that  is  exactly  how  they  treat  me. 
I've  given  up  trying  to  do  anything  in  opposition 
to  their  wishes.  I  do  the  work  that  is  laid  out 
for  me."  She  sighed.  "Yes,  I've  ceased  to 
rebel.  I  am  resigned.  But,  Victor,  you  must 
not  fail  me.  I  shall  be  perfectly  happy  if  only 
you  will  be  content  to  go  with  me  and  to  grant 
at  least  that  the  work  I  am  doing  is  worth  while. 
You're  all  I  have  now,  and  when  I  see  you  frown 
ing  at  me,  so  like  your  father,  I  am  scared. 
That  black  look  is  on  your  face  this  moment." 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  of  me,  mother,"  he 
replied,  wearily;  "but  you  must  not  ask  me  to 
believe  in  your  voices  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  It's 
too  unnatural  and  too  foolish.  But  you're  my 
good  little  mother  all  the  same,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  desert  you.  I'm  going  to  stay  right  here  and 
help  you  fight  it  out." 

She  took  his  words  to  mean  something  sweet 
and  filial  and  went  to  his  arms  with  happiness. 

39 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

As  she  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder  he 
looked  round  the  room  and  said,  "But,  mother, 
this  ghost-room  has  got  to  go." 

"Oh,  Victor,  don't  say  that.  I  am  ready  to 
promise  not  to  take  money  for  my  work,  but  I 
can't  promise  anything  further;  and  as  for  my 
ghost-room,  as  you  call  it,  it  has  so  many  asso 
ciations  with  Paul  and  your  grandfather  that  I 
cannot  think  of  giving  it  up.  I  dare  not  give 
it  up." 

"You  must  quit  it,"  he  repeated.  "If  you 
give  another  seance — for  money — I  will  leave 
you  and  I  will  never  come  back."  And  on  his 
face  was  the  stubborn  look  of  his  father. 


Ill 

VICTOR   MAKES    A   TEST 

THAT  night  was  a  long  and  restless  one  for 
the  mother,  but  the  son,  with  the  healthy 
boy's  power  of  forge tfulness,  slept  dreamlessly, 
waking  only  when  the  morning  light  struck 
beneath  his  eyelids.  For  a  moment  the  thunder 
of  the  elevated  trains  in  the  alley  puzzled  him, 
and  he  rose  dazedly  on  his  elbow  expecting  to 
catch  Frenson  at  some  practical  joke,  but  as  his 
eyes  took  in  the  faded  carpet,  the  cheap  curtains, 
the  decrepit  furniture,  his  brain  cleared  and  his 
beleaguering  worries  came  back  upon  him  like  a 
swarm  of  vultures. 

He  recalled  the  terror  of  his  mother's  trance, 
the  coming  of  her  lovely  friends,  the  ride,  the 
luxurious  dinner,  and,  last  of  all,  the  significant 
words  with  which  they  had  parted. 

In  the  light  of  the  day  his  situation  did  not 
seem  so  complicated.  "We  must  leave  this  city 
and  go  out  West  somewhere — get  shut  of  the 
whole  bunch.  Father  was  right — this  trance 
business  is  intolerable." 

His  natural  vigor  and  decision  returned  to  him. 
41 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

He  rose  with  a  bound,  calling  to  his  mother  with 
a  realization  of  the  fact  that  she  had  no  cook. 
"Who  gets  breakfast,  you  or  I?" 

She  replied,  with  a  little  flutter  of  dismay  in 
her  voice,  "I  don't  believe  there  is  a  crumb  of 
bread  in  the  house." 

"Never  mind,"  he  replied;  "I'll  go  to  the 
corner  and  negotiate  a  roll." 

The  neighborhood  did  not  improve  with  day 
light  acquaintance,  and  on  his  way  back  from  the 
shop  with  a  jug  of  cream  and  a  paper  bag  in  his 
hands  he  dwelt  again  upon  his  motor-car  ride  to 
the  Palace  Hotel  and  reviewed  the  eighteen-dollar 
meal  they  had  eaten.  He  possessed  sufficient 
sense  of  humor  to  grin  as  he  clutched  his  parcels. 
"If  Miss  Wood  were  to  see  me  now  she'd  ex 
perience  a  jolt." 

His  smile  did  not  last  long.  "Mrs.  Joyce 
knows  all  about  us, ' '  he  admitted.  ' '  That's  why 
she  blew  us  to  that  feast.  She  was  trying  to 
compensate  mother  for  her  empty  cupboard, 
which  was  very  nice  of  her."  Then  his  thought 
went  deeper.  He  began  to  understand  that  it 
was  to  provide  him  with  a  larger  allowance  that 
his  mother  had  been  living  alone  and  doing  her 
own  work.  "Dear  little  mutter!"  he  said,  and 
his  heart  softened  toward  her.  "She's  been 
walking  the  tight-rope,  all  right." 

She  was  up  and  at  work  in  the  tiny  kitchen  as 
he  came  in.  "I  forgot  to  get  my  supplies  Satur 
day — and  yesterday  I  was  so  upset — " 

42 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

"Never  mind,"  he  replied,  gaily.  "The  'royal 
gorge'  we  had  last  night  makes  breakfast  supere 
rogatory.  I've  attached  some  rolls  and  a  bottle 
of  cream,  and  if  you've  any  coffee  and  sugar 
we're  fixed." 

"I  have  sugar  but  no  coffee.     I  drink — " 

"Not  on  your  life!"  he  cut  in.  "No  burnt 
wheat  for  me ! "  And  he  tore  down  the  stairs  like 
mad. 

At  the  shop  he  found  himself  possessed  of  just 
seventeen  cents,  with  which  he  bought  a  half- 
pound  of  coffee. 

"Now  I  can  begin  my  conquest  of  the  world 
as  all  the  great  men  have  done — penniless.  It's 
me  for  a  stroll  down-town,  I  reckon." 

The  table  was  neatly  set  when  he  returned, 
and  his  mother,  proud  of  her  big  and  glowing 
boy,  cheerily  confronted  him.  "No  matter  how 
poor  we  are,"  she  said,  "we  can  be  happy." 
And  with  her  faith  renewed  she  prepared  the 
coffee  for  the  cream. 

The  sun  struck  into  the  bare  little  dining-room 
with  golden  charm,  but  these  two  souls,  so  alike 
yet  so  unlike,  faced  each  other  with  returning 
constraint.  As  they  talked  their  antagonism  of 
purpose  again  developed. 

Victor  outlined  his  plan  of  going  West  and 
starting  anew.  To  this  suggestion  his  mother 
listened,  then  gently  replied:  "There  are  many 
objections  to  that,  Victor.  First  of  all,  I  have 
no  money." 

43 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Can't  we  sell  something?"  She  shook  her 
head,  and  he,  after  looking  around,  ruefully  ad 
mitted  that  there  was  nothing  to  sell.  "But 
your  house—  This  gave  him  a  thought.  ' '  Why 
don't  we  go  back  to  La  Crescent  ?  I'll  work  on  a 
farm,  in  a  grocery — anything  rather  than  have 
you  keep  on  with  this  business.  It's  dangerous, 
and  it  isn't  nice." 

"Victor,"  she  began,  with  more  of  self-asser 
tion  than  she  had  hitherto  voiced,  "you  don't 
understand.  My  mediumship  is  not  a  business, 
it  is  a  sacred  obligation.  God  has  gifted  me 
with  the  power  of  communicating  with  those 
who  have  passed  to  a  higher  plane,  and  I  must 
respect  that  gift.  I  am  in  the  hands  of  those 
wiser  than  either  of  us.  To  oppose  them  would 
be  self-destruction." 

He  listened  with  growing  coldness  and  hard 
ness.  "That's  all  a  delusion,"  he  repeated. 
"Modern  science  has  proved  that  mediumship  is 
just  plain  hysteria." 

"We  won't  argue,"  she  replied,  and  her  tone 
was  that  of  one  hurt.  "I  know,  for  I  have  had 
the  personal  experience.  I  am  only  a  leaf  in  the 
wind  when  this  power  sweeps  over  me.  So  long 
as  I  live  I  must  remain  the  instrument  of  these 
our  supernal  friends — it  is  my  work  in  the  world, 
and  I  must  execute  it." 

"What  do  you  expect  me  to  do?"  he  asked, 
almost  brutally. 

"I'd  like  you  to  go  back  to  your  studies — " 
44 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

"That  I  will  not  do,"  he  assured  her  in  tones 
that  expressed  a  final  decision. 

"Well  then — will  you  remain  here  with  me?" 

' '  Not  with  you  carrying  on  the  business  which 
I  hate." 

"Why  should  you  hate  it?  To  Leo  and  Mrs. 
Joyce  my  mission  is  noble." 

"I  hate  it  because  I  think  it's  foolish,  un 
natural,  and  false.  I  don't  mean  that  you  con 
sciously  cheat,  mother,  but  I  am  certain  that  in 
some  way  it  all  comes  down  to  that." 

She  opened  her  arms  in  a  gesture  of  passionate 
appeal.  "My  son,  these  Voices  have  educated 
you — they  have  helped  me  to  feed  and  clothe  you. 
Now  here  I  am,  prove  me,  try  me,  convict  me  if 
you  can.  I  yield  myself  to  your  tests.  I  know 
the  spirit  life  is  a  reality.  If  I  did  not  I  should 
perish  with  despair.  Every  day,  almost  all  hours 
of  the  day,  these  Voices  whisper  in  my  ears.  The 
hands  of  those  you  call  the  dead  caress  my 
cheek.  They  cheer  and  admonish  me.  They 
are  as  real  to  me  as  you  are.  If  you  can  silence 
them,  do  so.  I  put  myself  into  your  hands. 
Do  what  you  will  in  proof  of  my  powers." 

The  boy  was  rapidly  changing  to  the  man. 
His  mother's  words  beating  upon  his  brain 
aroused  something  in  him  which  he  had  not 
hitherto  acknowledged.  He  thought  deeply  as 
he  peered  into  her  eyes,  burning  with  resolution. 

"She  is  honest — but  she  is  the  victim  of  a 
fixed  idea."  He  had  heard  much  of  "the  fixed 

45 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE  . 

idea."  "I  will  try  her,  I  will  rid  her  of  her 
obsession."  Aloud  he  said:  "The  important 
thing  is  our  living.  How  am  I  to  pay  my  way  ? 
I  haven't  a  cent.  I  paid  out  my  last  penny  for 
this  coffee." 

"I  have  a  little  money." 
"I  told  you  I  wouldn't  take  another  dollar  of 
your  money,  and  I  won't,"  he  replied,  sharply. 
"That's  settled.     I  must  get  clear  and  keep  clear 
of  all  this  'bunk.'" 

"But  suppose  you  find  my  powers  real?"  she 
asked,  trembling  with  eagerness. 

He  hesitated.  "Then — well — if  I  believed  in 
your  powers  I  would  still  object  to  your  earning 
money  with — by  means  of  your — your  Voices. 
I've  got  to  make  my  own  way  in  the  world,  and 
from  this  moment!" 

She  read  an  unmitigable  opposition  in  his 
eyes  and  sadly  said,  "You'll  come  here  to  sleep, 
won't  you?" 

He  conceded  so  much,  though  reluctantly. 
"Yes,  I'll  sleep  here,  but  as  soon  as  I  make  a 
raise  of  any  work  I  intend  to  pay  for  my  board. 
As  for  carfare,  I  guess  my  junk  will  have  to  go 
into  'hock."  He  rose.  "You  see,  I  won  a 
silver  mug  and  a  watch  by  being  useful  to  the 
team.  It's  them  to  'Uncle  Jake's,'"  he  ended, 
with  a  return  to  the  college  youth's  vocabulary, 
and  going  to  his  valise  took  out  his  reward  for 
muscular  merit  and  showed  it  to  her.  "Isn't 
that  smooth?" 

46 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

Her  eyes  shone  with  pride.  "How  much  do 
you  suppose  you  can  borrow  on  it?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.      Five  dollars,  maybe/' 

"Well,  I'll  lend  you  ten  dollars  on  it." 

He  looked  at  her  with  musing  eyes.  "Say 
twenty,  and  you  may  have  both  mug  and 
watch." 

She  went  to  her  purse  and  handed  to  him  the 
money. 

He  took  it  without  hesitation.  "Well,  here's 
where  I  hit  the  pavement  for  a  job." 

She  confronted  him  in  a  final  appeal.  "Oh, 
Victor,  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  doubt  me  even 
for  an  hour.  Stay  with  me  to-day.  Stay  and 
let  me  talk  with  you.  I've  had  so  little  of  you. 
Just  think!  for  more  than  twelve  years  I've 
kept  you  away  from  me — I've  starved  myself — 
my  mother-self — in  order  that  you  might  grow  to 
manhood  untroubled  by  my  faith,  and  I  can't 
bear  to  have  you  doubt  me  now." 

He  understood  something  of  her  emotion 
and  responded  to  it.  "You  dear,  faithful  little 
mother,  I  realize  now  what  I  have  cost  you,  and 
I'm  grateful;  but  that's  the  very  reason  why  I 
can't  let  you  do  any  more  of  it.  I  must  begin 
to  pay  you  back." 

"All  you  need  to  do  to  pay  me  is  to  let  me 
look  at  you,"  she  fondly  replied.  "I'm  proud  of 
you,  Victor.  I  was  proud  of  you  last  night.  I 
saw  Leo  admiring  you,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  thinks  you 
are  splendid." 

47 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

He  was  interested.  "By  the  way,  who  is  Miss 
Wood?" 

"She's  a  niece  of  Mrs.  Joyce.  Mrs.  Joyce  is 
the  widow  of  Joyce  the  lumberman." 

"She  seems  to  have  all  kinds  of  money."  His 
face  was  thoughtful  again. 

"Yes,  she's  rich,  and  she  has  been  very  kind 
to  me.  She  took  me  to  California  and  to  Europe. 
She  is  always  doing  things  for  me.  It  was  just 
like  her  to  come  to  me  yesterday — she  is  not  one 
to  fail  in  time  of  trouble.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  without  her." 

"She  certainly  is  nice.  What  about  Miss 
Wood  ?  Does  she  believe  in  your — your  Voices  ?' ' 
He  asked  this  without  direct  glance. 

"Yes.  She  doesn't  say  much,  but  she  is 
deeply  grateful  to  my  guides." 

"  She's  no  ordinary  girl,  I  can  see  that.  Is 
she  rich  also?" 

"Not  as  Mrs.  Joyce  is  rich,  but  The  Voices 
have  sort  of  adopted  her.  They  say  they  will 
make  her  wealthy  as  a  queen." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"They  are  telling  her  from  week  to  week  just 
how  to  invest  her  money." 

' '  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  advise  her 
how  to  invest  her  money?" 

"No,  I  mean  The  Voices  advise  her/ 

"Why  should  'they*  know  anything  about 
business?" 

She  became  evasive.  "They  do!  They've 
48 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

proved  it  again  and  again.  Mrs.  Joyce's  income 
has  doubled  in  five  years  by  following  father's 
advice." 

He  pondered  on  this  deeply.  "I  don't  like 
that.  I  don't  see  why  you  or  your  Voices 
should  be  valuable  in  that  way." 

''There  are  many  things  in  this  world  for  you 
to  learn,  my  son,"  she  replied  with  an  assumption 
of  superior  wisdom. 

This  nettled  him.  "It  don't  take  much  wis 
dom  to  know  that  if  you  go  on  advising  people 
in  that  way  you'll  get  into  trouble.  That's  what 
that  writer  said  in  the  paper." 

She  closed  her  lips  tightly  as  if  to  keep  back  a 
cutting  reply,  and  he  rose  briskly.  "Well,  see 
here,  we  must  put  away  these  dishes." 

She  acquiesced  in  his  postponement  of  the 
discussion,  and  helped  him  wash  the  dishes 
and  set  the  room  to  rights.  At  last  she  said : 
"Where  is  the  morning  Star?  Have  you  seen 
it?" 

"There's  a  paper  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs;  is 
that  yours?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

"I'll  get  it,"  he  said,  and  was  out  of  the  door 
^nd  back  again  before  she  fully  realized  that  he 
was  gone.  He  opened  the  twist  of  damp  paper 
with  haste,  fully  expecting  to  find  some  new  at 
tack  on  "Mrs.  Ollnee,  the  Blood-sucker,"  but 
there  was  nothing.  "All  the  same,  you're  not 
safe  in  this  house,"  he  said.  "They  threatened 

49 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

to  arrest  you,  and  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  here 
alone  to-day." 

"You  need  not  worry  about  me,"  she  replied, 
quietly.  "Father  will  take  care  of  me.  If  he 
saw  any  real  danger  coming  my  way  he  would 
warn  me  of  it." 

"He  didn't  warn  you  of  the  coming  of  the 
reporter,  did  he?" 

"No — he  had  some  reason  for  permitting  this 
cloud  to  come  upon  me.  He  knows  best." 

"I  don't  believe  I'd  put  very  much  faith  in 
'guides'  that  didn't  keep  me  out  of  trouble." 

"Perhaps  all  this  is  a  part  of  our  discipline. 
They  are  wiser  than  we.  I  accept  even  this  dis 
grace  as  a  good  in  disguise.  Perhaps  it  was  all 
intended  to  bring  you  to  me." 

The  youth  sank  back  again  baffled  by  this  all- 
inclosing  acceptance.  "What  do  you  intend  to 
do  to-day?"  he  asked,  as  she  rose  and  walked 
over  to  the  little  walnut  table. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  for  advice." 

"Now?" 

"Yes;  and  I  wish  you  would  sit  with  me  for 
a  few  moments  and  see  if  we  cannot  secure  direc 
tion  for  the  day." 

He  was  beginning  to  be  curious — and  his  de 
sire  to  dig  deeper  into  his  mother's  brain  over 
came  part  of  his  repugnance. 

"All  right,"  he  boyishly  answered,  but  his 
heart  contracted  with  sudden  fear  of  finding 
her  false.  "Let's  see  what  they're  up  to." 


VICTOR   MAKES   A   TEST 

"Take  a  seat  opposite  me,"  she  said,  and  there 
was  something  commanding  in  her  voice. 

Drawing  a  chair  up  to  the  old  brown  table— 
which  he  remembered  as  one  of  the  pieces  of 
furniture  in  his  earliest  childhood  home — he  took 
a  seat. 

''Why  do  you  keep  this  rickety  old  thing?"  he 
asked,  shaking  it  viciously. 

''It  was  your  grandfather's  reading- table,  and 
he  likes  me  to  keep  it.  Besides,  it  is  highly  mag 
netized  and  very  sensitive." 

' '  Oh  rats ! "  he  irreverently  burst  forth.  ' '  You 
can't  magnetize  a  piece  of  wood.  Wood  is  a 
non-conductor.  You  can't  subvert  a  physical  law 
just  by  saying  so." 

"I  don't  mean  it  in  that  crude  sense,"  she  re 
plied,  quite  mistress  of  herself.  She  had  taken 
up  and  was  holding  between  her  hands  a  small 
hinged  slate. 

"What's  that  for?"  asked  Victor. 

"To  vitalize  the  surface.  I  am  able  to  give 
it  vitality  by  my  touch."  She  laid  the  slate 
upon  the  table  and  placed  her  spread  hand  upon 
it.  "Put  your  hand  upon  mine,  Victor." 

He  did  as  she  bade  him,  rebelling  at  the  child 
ish  folly  of  it  all.  "What  do  you  expect  to  do  ?" 
he  asked. 

Almost  immediately  the  slate  seemed  seized  by 
a  powerful  hand.  It  began  to  slide  back  and 
forth  across  the  table  violently,  twisting  and 
clattering.  The  youth  put  forth  his  own  great 

51 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

strength  and  stopped  it,  but  a  crunching  sound 
announced  that  the  slate  was  broken. 

His  mother  said,  sharply,  "You  mustn't  do 
that,  Victor."  She  took  up  the  slate  and  showed 
one  corner  crushed  and  crumbled.  "You  can't 
hold  it — you  mustn't  try — it  angers  them." 

He  marveled  at  the  strength  which  had  resisted 
him,  but  argued  that  his  mother  from  long  prac 
tice  had  become  very  muscular.  Hysterical 
people  often  displayed  astounding  power. 

After  preparing  a  new  slate  she  put  it  on  the 
table  as  before,  saying  to  the  air,  "Please  don't 
be  rough,  father — Victor  can't  prevent  his 
skepticism." 

Three  loud  raps  answered,  and  she  smiled. 
He  says,  "All  right.  He  understands." 

"Seems  to  me  he's  mighty  touchy  for  one  on 
the  heavenly  plane,"  Victor  retorted,  maliciously. 
"Seems  to  me  an  all-seeing  spirit  ought  to  get 
my  point  of  view." 

A  vigorous  tapping  on  the  table  responded  to 
this  speech. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Victor. 

"That  is  your  father  saying  yes,  he  does  get 
your  point  of  view." 

Victor  had  a  feeling  that  his  mother  was  re 
ceding  from  him  as  he  faced  her  across  the  table. 
She  became  the  professional  medium  in  her  man 
ner  and  tone.  He,  too,  changed.  He  hardened, 
assuming  the  attitude  of  the  scientific  observer — 
hostile  and  derisive.  His  keen  hazel-gray  eyes 

52 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

grew  penetrating  and  his  lips  curled  in  scorn. 
His  tone  hurt  her,  but  she  persisted  in  her 
sitting,  and  at  last  the  slate  began  to  tremble 
throughout  all  its  parts,  and  a  grating  sound  like 
slow  writing  with  a  pencil  went  on  beneath  it. 
Victor  could  plainly  follow  the  dotting  of  the  i's 
and  the  crossing  of  the  t's,  till  at  the  end  a  tapping 
indicated  that  it  was  finished. 

''You  may  take  the  slate,  Victor,"  said  Mrs. 
Ollnee. 

He  took  it  from  the  table  and  opened  it.  On 
one  side,  in  bold  script — a  bit  old-fashioned- 
stood  these  words:  "Stay  where  you  are.  Let 
the  boy  adventure  into  the  city.  Await  results. 
I  will  be  near.  FA THER." 

Victor,  astounded,  mystified,  confronted  his 
mother  with  wide  eyes.  "Now,  what  does  that 
mean?" 

' '  It  means  that  I  am  to  keep  this  house  just  as 
it  is  and  you  are  to  seek  work  in  the  city.  Is  that 
right,  Paul?" 

Three  taps  made  answer. 

The  youth  was  stunned  by  the  boldness  and 
cleverness  of  all  this.  He  was  pained,  too.  He 
perceived  no  sign  of  abnormal  thinking  in 
his  mother's  action.  She  was  not  hysterical 
She  was  not  entranced.  Whatever  she  did  she  did 
consciously — and  the  thought  that  she  could 
deliberately  deceive  him  was  shocking.  He 
breathed  quickly  and  a  nervous  clutch  came  into 
his  hands.  He  resented  being  fooled.  "Let's 
5  53 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

try  that  again,"  he  said;  and  his  tone  was  pre 
cisely  that  of  the  child  who  sees  a  grown  person 
swallow  a  coin  and  take  it  out  of  his  ear.  He  was 
angry  as  well  as  sad.  ''Don't  put  your  hand  on 
it,"  he  protested.  "I  don't  like  the  looks  of 
that." 

She  submitted,  and  then  as  he  was  putting  it 
down  on  the  table  the  sound  of  writing  was  heard 
within  it.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  slates,  and 
still  the  writing  went  on!  With  amazement  he 
realized  that  both  her  hands  were  in  sight  and  in 
no  wise  concerned  in  the  writing.  The  right 
rested  lightly  and  quietly  on  the  frame  of  the 
slate,  but  the  left,  which  lay  on  the  opposite 
corner  of  the  table,  was  quivering  throughout  all 
its  minute  muscles. 

Amazed  beyond  words,  excited,  breathing 
deep,  with  a  shudder  of  nervous  excitement 
running  over  his  entire  body,  Victor  listened  to 
the  mystic  pencil.  ''How  do  you  work  that?" 
he  asked,  in  a  whisper. 

"I  don't  know.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it," 
she  answered ;  and  taking  the  upper  hinge  of  the 
slate  between  her  fingers  and  thumb  she  slowly 
raised  it. 

And  still  the  writing  went  on! 

Victor,  holding  his  breath  in  awe,  bent  to  look 
within,  but  as  the  opening  grew  wider  the 
writing  stopped. 

He  snatched  the  slates  from  the  table  and 
studied  the  lines,  which  were  made  up  of  minute 

54 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

dots.  It  was  all  perfectly  legible:  "Son.  I 
doubted.  Now  I  know." 

Victor  sank  back  into  his  seat  and  stared 
speechlessly  at  the  slate  and  the  table.  The 
problem  of  his  mother's  mediumship  had  taken 
on  new  elements  of  mystery.  This  physical  test 
brought  it  into  the  range  of  his  knowledge  and 
interest.  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  her 
honesty  or  sanity,  it  had  become  a  problem  in 
dynamics. 

How  was  that  bit  of  pencil  moved  ?  The  mes 
sages  he  ignored — they  didn't  matter — but  the 
method  of  their  production  seemed  to  eliminate 
all  trickery,  conscious  or  unconscious.  Why  did 
his  mother's  left  hand  quiver — and  how  could 
that  writing  shape  itself  ? 

His  voice  was  husky  with  emotion  as  he  said : 
"  Mother,  I  don't  understand  that.  You've  got 
to  tell  me  how  that  is  done." 

She  felt  the  desperate  resolution  in  his  voice 
and  she  solemnly  answered,  "My  son,  I  don't 
know  how  it  is  done." 

"But  you  must  know!  Who  moves  that  pen 
cil!  Your  hand  quivered  all  the  time." 

"Yes,  I  seem  to  have  some  physical  connection 
with  it — at  times.  Other  times  all  that  takes 
place  has  no  more  connection  with  me  than  the 
sunlight  on  the  floor.  The  world  is  a  very  mys 
terious  place  to  me,  Victor.  I  don't  pretend  to 
know  anything.  I  do  as  I  am  told." 

He  fell  silent  again  while  his  mind  reviewed 
55 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

the  entire  process.  Then  he  burst  out,  vehe 
mently,  on  a  new  line.  * '  I  can't  believe  my  eyes. 
You've  hypnotized  me.  Mother,  for  God's  sake 
don't  juggle  with  me — don't  play  tricks  with  me. 
I  won't  stand  for  it.  It  hurts  me — ' '  He  paused, 
confused,  baffled,  ready  to  weep. 

"  Can  you,  my  own  son,  accuse  me  of  trickery  ?" 
she  asked. 

"You  think  you're  honest,  mother — but  don't 
you  see  you've  become  an  unconscious  hypnotist? 
It's  your  subconscious  self  deceiving  us  both.  I 
don't  know  how  you-  do  it,  but  I  know  it  must 
be  a  fraud." 

"Victor,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "what  this  power 
is  you  shall  have  full  opportunity  to  determine, 
but  I  say  to  you  that  for  more  than  twenty  years 
I've  been  guided  by  these  unseen  presences.  I've 
tested  their  wisdom  and  lived  under  their  care. 
So  far  as  this  message  is  concerned  I  accept  it.  I 
was  confused  and  frightened  yesterday,  but  this 
morning  I  am  calm.  I  shall  do  as  they  bid. 
I  shall  stay  here  while  you  go  down  into  the  city 
and  see  what  you  can  find  to  do,  and  together  we 
will  test  these  voices." 

There  was  a  ring  of  new-found  decision  in  her 
tone  that  quite  dashed  him.  He  sat  dumbly 
facing  her,  helpless  in  a  whirl  of  mental  storm. 
"Is  she  more  cunning  than  I  thought?  Is  she 
playing  a  more  complex  game  than  appears?" 
These  thoughts  vaguely  shaped  themselves. 
Then  his  filial  self  answered :  ' '  But  what  has  she 


VICTOR   MAKES  A  TEST 

to  gain  ?  She  loves  me.  She  has  sacrificed  her 
self  to  keep  me  at  school — why  should  she  de 
ceive  me?" 

Here  again  a  third  conception  came  to  em 
bitter  him.  He  spoke.  "You  don't  seem  to 
mind  my  loss  of  a  degree  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Victor.  I  feel  that  very  deeply, 
but  the  higher  wisdom  of  your  grandfather  re 
signs  me.  I  cannot  tell  what  is  behind  it.  By 
his  power  to  read  the  future  he  may  be  preventing 
some  terrible  accident,  some  calamity  by  fire  or 
water — I  have  an  impression  that  it  is  something 
of  that  sort." 

"No"  came  a  whisper  from  the  air. 

She  turned  her  face  upward,  and,  listening  in 
tently,  asked,  "What  is  the  reason,  father?" 

"Discipline"  the  whisper  replied. 

"He  says  'discipline,'  Victor." 

"Discipline!"  he  echoed.  "Why  should  I  be 
disciplined?  What  have  I  done?" 

"It  is  not  what  you've  done — it's  what  you  are 
to  do." 

The  Voice  did  not  reply  to  further  questions, 
and  the  silence  gave  out  a  kind  of  cold  contempt, 
which  cut  the  boy  as  he  waited. 

' '  Let's  try  that  slate  business  again,"  he  said  at 
last.  But  to  this  his  mother  would  not  consent. 

"It's  of  no  use,"  she  said.  "They  are  gone. 
There  is  no  'power'  present." 

He  again  faced  her  with  alien,  accusing  eyes. 
"When  will  you  try  this  again?" 

57 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"To-night,  when  you  come  home." 

"Home !"  he  sneered,  looking  about.  "Do  you 
expect  me  to  call  this  place  home  ?  Do  you  ex 
pect  me  to  hang  about  this  scrubby  hole  to  be 
disciplined  by  your  Voices?" 

The  sound  of  a  knock  at  the  door  gave  her 
a  moment's  respite.  "The  postman,"  she  ex 
plained  as  she  rose  to  go  to  the  door. 

She  was  gone  for  several  minutes  and  Victor 
heard  her  in  friendly  conversation  with  a  pleasant 
male  voice.  Some  way  this  added  to  his  anger 
and  disgust. 

She  came  back  with  a  letter  in  her  hand  which 
she  began  at  once  to  open.  "It  is  from  Louise, 
I  mean  Mrs.  Joyce." 

She  read  it  through  with  smiling  face,  then 
said,  "Victor,  you  must  be  nice  to  Louise,  she 
has  done  everything  for  us." 

This  brought  him  to  his  feet.  "I  understand 
all  that  now.  It  is  her  money  I've  been  living 
on — I  won't  touch  another  cent  that  comes 
from  her.  Understand  that!  I  won't  eat  an 
other  dinner  that  she  pays  for." 

"Why,  Victor,  you  should  not  feel  that  way! 
What  has  she  done  to  make  you  bitter?" 

"Nothing.  I  refuse  to  live  on  her  charity, 
that's  all,  and  I  want  you  to  find  out  just  how 
much  I  owe  her — how  much  you  owe  her — for  I 
intend  to  pay  her  back  every  dollar  with  in 
terest." 

"But    she   considers    I've   already   paid  her. 

58 


VICTOR  MAKES  A  TEST 

She  feels  that  I  have  always  given  her  bounteous 
return  for  all  her  aid." 

"I  don't  figure  it  that  way,"  he  said.  "She's 
just  amusing  herself— 

She  interrupted.  "Listen  to  what  she  says." 
She  read :  " '  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  like 
your  son.  He  is  so  vivid  and  so  powerful.  I'm 
sorry  he  is  to  miss  his  degree.  Can't  you  per 
suade  him  to  go  back  ?  I'll  be  glad  to  advance 
what  is  necessary — ' ' 

"There  it  is,  you  see!  There's  the  rich  lady 
helping  a  poor  relation." 

"Wait,  son!"  she  pleaded,  and  read  on.  "  'I 
feel  that  I  owe  you  ten  times  what  you've  per 
mitted  me  to  do  for  you.' ' 

"That's  all  very  nice  of  her,  mother,  but  I 
won't  have  any  more  of  it."  He  pounded  out 
the  sentence  with  his  fist. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  mingled  fear  and 
pride.  "You  are  exactly  like  your  father  as  you 
say  that,"  she  declared.  "Oh,  Victor,  my  son! 
If  you  leave  me  in  anger  I  shall  be  desolate  in 
deed.  I  can't  live  without  you.  Please  believe 
in  me — and  love  me — for  you're  all  I  have  on 
this  earth." 

His  anger  died  away.  He  saw  her  again  as 
she  really  was,  a  pale,  devoted  little  saint,  with 
troubled  brow  and  quivering  lips,  one  who  had 
shed  her  very  life-blood  for  him — to  doubt  her 
became  a  monstrous  cruelty. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  hugged  her 
59 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

close.  "I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,  mother — 
but  your  world  is  so  strange  to  me.  I'll  stay, 
I'll  do  the  best  I  can  here ;  only  don't  work  this 
slate  trick  any  more.  Don't  sit  for  any  one  but 
me.  Will  you  promise  that  ?" 

''May  I  not  sit  for  Louise?" 

"Not  without  me." 

"I  dare  not  promise,  Victor.  Father  may  in 
sist.  If  he  does  not  insist  I  will  do  as  you  wish. 
I  will  give  it  up." 

He  kissed  her.  "Dear  little  mother,  you 
sha'n't  live  alone  any  more,  and  you  shall  soon 
have  a  home  that  is  worthy  of  you." 

She  was  weeping,  and  a  big  lump  in  his  own 
throat  made  speech  difficult.  To  cover  his 
emotion  he  slangily  said:  "Well,  now,  it's  me 
to  the  marts  of  trade.  Perhaps  I'll  fool  The 
Voices  yet." 


IV 

VICTOR   THROWS    DOWN   THE   ALTAR 

HOW  do  people  get  jobs,"  he  asked  himself 
as  he  set  forth.  "  'Want  ads,'  I  suppose." 
He  went  deeper.  "What  am  I  fitted  for?  I 
can  keep  books — in  a  fashion — or  I  can  clerk. 
My  training  has  not  fitted  me  for  any  special 
thing,  unless  to  sell  sporting-goods."  This  was 
a  "lead,"  and  his  face  brightened.  "My  work 
on  the  team  ought  to  help  me  in  that  direction. 
Good  idea!  I'll  hie  me  to  the  sporting-goods 
houses." 

The  first  two  managers  with  whom  he  talked, 
while  much  impressed  by  him,  were  completely 
manned,  but  the  third  was  disposed  to  consider 
him  till  he  told  him  his  name.  "No  relation  to 
Mrs.  Ollnee,  the  medium?"  he  asked,  with  a  grin, 
while  poising  his  pencil  to  write. 

For  an  instant  Victor  hesitated,  then  took  the 
leap.  "Well,  yes,  I  am,  but  then  you  don't  want 
to  believe  that  report;  it's  more  than  half  a  lie." 

The  manager's  smile  vanished.  He  left  the 
address  half  finished.  "So  you  are  the  son  they 
spoke  of?"  he  said,  with  a  cold,  keen  glance. 

61 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Yes,  I  am,"  Victor  boldly  answered. 

He  closed  his  book.  "I  don't  believe  we  can 
trade,"  he  announced.  "Of  course  /  don't  con 
sider  all  mediums  frauds  and  liars,  but  this  house 
is  very  particular  about  its  help — " 

Victor  turned  and  walked  away,  bitterly  re 
bellious  of  soul  and  disheartened.  For  a  time 
his  anger  burned  so  hotly  within  him  that  he 
meditated  taking  the  train  and  leaving  the  city 
and  all  it  held  behind  him.  Again  and  again  his 
thought  returned  to  the  picture  his  gentle  little 
mother  had  made  as  she  had  said  good-by  to  him 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  To  accuse  her  of  con 
scious  deception  was  like  accusing  a  sweet  girl 
of  infanticide.  How  could  she  build  up  a  system 
of  fraudulent  fortune-telling,  so  intricate,  so 
subtle,  that  it  baffled  the  eye  of  the  reporter,  who 
confessed  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  detect  the 
trickery.  "It  is  only  by  induction,  by  inference, 
that  one  gets  at  the  modus  operandi"  he 
admitted. 

In  his  perturbation  he  walked  away  to  the  east 
and  soon  came  out  upon  the  lake-front.  A 
bunch  of  men  and  boys  of  all  types  and  sizes  were 
playing  ball  on  the  barren  ground,  and  with  the 
athlete's  undying  love  of  the  sport  he  rose  and 
edged  into  the  game.  He  could  not  resist  show 
ing  his  prowess  by  means  of  a  few  curves,  and  the 
crowd  with  instant  perception  began  to  take  a 
vivid  interest  in  him. 

A  half -hour  of  this  restored  his  good-nature 
62 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

and  he  returned  to  the  canons  to  the  west,  de 
termined  to  find  an  opening  somewhere.  He  was 
never  dismissed  rudely — he  was  too  big  and  well- 
dressed  for  that — but  the  fact  that  he  had  no 
experience  shut  him  out  in  most  cases,  and  for 
the  rest  the  departments  were  filled  with  sales 
men.  Twice  when  he  seemed  about  to  be  taken 
on,  his  name  and  his  mother's  reputation  shut  the 
door  of  opportunity  in  his  face. 

At  four  o'clock  he  started  slowly  homeward, 
discouraged,  not  so  much  by  his  failure  as  by 
the  fact  that  everybody  seemed  to  have  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  article  in  the  Star.  It  was  evident 
that  even  when  a  manager  did  not  at  the  moment 
make  the  connection  between  his  name  and  Mrs. 
Ollnee's  it  would  certainly  come  out  later  and 
he  would  be  called  upon  to  defend  himself  and 
his  mother  from  the  sneers  and  jeers  of  his  fellow- 
salesmen.  "I'm  a  marked  man,  that's  sure,"  he 
said,  in  dismay. 

All  day  his  mind  had  dwelt  in  flashes  on  the 
glorious  life  at  Winona,  but  now  his  memory  of  it 
was  poisoned  by  the  thought  that  he  had  been 
a  pensioner  on  the  bounty  of  Mrs.  Joyce.  "The 
easy  thing  wou:d  be  to  change  my  name  and 
skip  out  for  the  plains,"  he  said  again,  "but  I 
won't.  I'll  stay  and  fight  it  out  right  here  some 
way." 

He  was  passing  the  public  library  at  the  mo 
ment  and  was  moved  to  go  in  and  look  up  the 
"want  ads"  in  the  papers.  Ten  minutes'  reading 

63 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

of  these  filled  him  with  despair.  There  were  so 
many  wanting  work!  His  feet  were  tired  with 
walking  and  his  brain  weary  with  the  movement 
of  the  street,  therefore  he  moved  on  to  the 
reference  room  where  he  found  an  atmosphere 
of  study  that  was  very  grateful. 

Accustomed  to  work  of  this  kind,  he  asked  the 
attendant  to  bring  him  catalogues,  and  was  soon 
surrounded  with  books  and  magazines  which 
dealt  with  the  modern  study  of  psychic  phe 
nomena.  He  fell  upon  one  or  two  of  these  which 
gave  exhaustive  generalizations,  and  he  was 
astounded  to  find  that  European  men  of  science 
of  the  loftiest  type  were  engaged  in  the  study 
of  precisely  the  same  phenomena  which  his 
mother  claimed  to  produce. 

Careless  of  all  else,  he  remained  until  six  o'clock 
absorbed  and  confused  by  what  he  read.  Words 
and  phrases  like  "telekinesis,"  "teleplastic," 
"parasitic  personalities/'  "externalized  motric- 
ity,"  "bio-psychic  energy"  danced  about  in  his 
brain  like  fantastic  insects.  He  fairly  staggered 
with  the  weight  of  the  conceptions  laid  upon  him, 
and  when  at  last  he  went  out  into  the  streets 
he  had  forgotten  his  race  for  place  behind  the 
counter. 

It  was  nearly  sunset,  and  his  afternoon — his 
day — had  gone  for  naught!  He  was  as  far  as 
ever  from  securing  work — and  wages — to  keep  his 
little  mother  and  himself  from  the  corrupting 
care  of  charity.  He  was  a  bit  disgusted  with 

64 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

himself,  too,  for  wasting  valuable  time,  and  yet 
he  was  enough  of  the  scholar  to  feel  a  glow  of 
delight  in  the  company  he  had  been  keeping. 
There  was  something  large  and  free  in  the  atti 
tude  of  those  Italian  men  toward  the  universe, 
and  before  he  had  walked  far  he  promised  him 
self  to  go  again  and  continue  that  line  of  investi 
gation.  As  he  walked  up  the  avenue  he  came 
face  to  face  with  the  dark,  thin-faced  girl  who 
had  knocked  at  his  mother's  door  the  day  before. 
She  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  he  passed  her 
with  blank  look. 

He  found  his  mother  at  the  window  waiting  for 
him,  and  upon  seeing  him  she  hurried  to  meet 
him  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"What  luck?"  she  called,  with  a  smile. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  doing,"  and 
received  her  caress  rather  coldly,  for  he  perceived 
Mrs.  Joyce  in  the  room.  ' '  It  isn't  so  easy  to  find 
a  job.  I'll  be  lucky  if  I  dig  one  up  in  a  week,  I 
suppose." 

Mrs.  Joyce  greeted  him  cordially.  "I've  just 
been  making  a  proposition  to  your  mother, 
Victor — I  hope  you'll  let  me  call  you  Victor — 
which  is,  that  we  all  go  abroad  for  a  few  months 
till  this  storm  blows  over." 

He  looked  at  her  with  gravely  interrogating 
glance.  "  How  could  we  do  that  ?" 

She  explained.  ' '  You  both  go  as  my  guests,  of 
course.  We  can  motor  through  France  in  June 
and  get  up  into  Switzerland  in  July." 

65 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

He  sank  into  a  chair  and  dazedly  studied  her. 
"Why  should  you  offer  to  do  all  that  for  us?" 

"Because  I  am  very  grateful  to  your  mother 
for  what  she  has  done  for  me.  She  not  only 
cured  my  mother  of  cancer — she  has  cured  me  of 
despair.  She  has  taught  me  to  believe  again  in 
the  mystery  of  the  world." 

"You  mean  she  has  done  this  as — as  a  me 
dium?" 

"Yes — through  her  guides  she  has  given  me 
faith  in  the  hereafter.  Their  advice  on  a  hun 
dred  different  things  has  made  life  easy  for  me. 
My  wealth  is  largely  due  to  the  wisdom  of  Mr. 
Astor,  who  speaks  through  her.  He  advises,  and 
so  does  your  grandfather,  that  I  take  you  all 
abroad  this  summer,  and  I  think  it  a  very  nice 
suggestion." 

"Oh,  the  suggestion  came  from  The  Voices, 
did  it?"  His  voice  was  full  of  scornful  sug 
gestion. 

"Yes;  but  I  thought  of  it  myself  yesterday  as 
I  read  that  terrible  article.  You  see,  I'm  told  by 
Mr.  Bartol,  my  lawyer,  that  the  city  officials  are 
about  to  start  another  campaign  against  all  forms 
of  mediumship.  I  think  it  best,  and  so  does 
your  father,  that  we  all  leave  the  city  for  a  time, 
and  escape  this  persecution." 

The  beleaguered  youth  was  not  a  polite  de 
ceiver  at  his  best,  and  this  proposal  appeared  to 
him  not  merely  chimerical,  but  immoral,  for  the 
reason  that  his  mother  must  have  really  proposed 

66 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

it.  Through  her  uncanny  power  of  hypnosis,  of 
suggestion,  she  had  put  the  idea  into  her  rich 
friend's  head.  "I  won't  consider  any  such  prop 
osition,"  he  bluntly  answered.  "I  don't  recog 
nize  my  mother's  claim.  You  owe  her  nothing. 
I  don't  believe  she  can  cure  cancer,  and  she  has 
no  right  to  advise  anybody  in  business  matters." 

"You  say  that  because  you  know  nothing  of 
the  facts,"  Mrs.  Joyce  briskly  replied.  "I  un 
derstand  your  situation  perfectly.  Your  mother 
has  kept  me  informed  of  her  worries — she  has  no 
secrets  from  me — and  I  must  say  I  foresaw  this 
antagonism  on  your  part.  I  felt  that  you  were 
growing  away  from  her,  and  yet  The  Voices  ad 
vised  her  to  keep  you  at  school  and  to  say  noth 
ing.  To  show  you  how  close  they  watch  you  I 
can  tell  you  that  we've  been  informed  of  your 
whereabouts  several  times  to-day.  You  met  a 
young  man  at  noon,  a  pale,  serious  young  man, 
whose  name  is  Gilmer,  who  said  he  would  help 
you.  Isn't  that  true?" 

He  was  properly  surprised.  "Yes,  I  did  meet 
such  a  man." 

"Then  you  went  to  the  library  and  read  for 
a  long  time?" 

He  sneered.  "Did  The  Voices  tell  you  that  I 
was  turned  down  everywhere  on  account  of  my 
mother's  reputation  as  a  medium?" 

No ;  but  they  said  you  would  oppose  the  idea 
of  our  going  abroad,  and  that  you  were  under 
discipline." 

67 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"You're  tired,  Victor,"  interposed  the  mother. 
"Don't  worry  over  me  any  more  now.  I'll  get 
you  some  coffee." 

While  she  was  gone  on  this  errand  Mrs.  Joyce 
leaned  toward  Victor  and  said:  "I  can  under 
stand  a  part  of  your  feeling,  because  there  was  a 
time  when  I  lived  in  the  world  of  definite,  com 
monplace  things — but  you  must  not  oppose  your 
mother's  Voices.  They  are  as  real  to  her  as  any 
thing  in  this  universe.  I've  proved  their  reality 
again  and  again.  As  I  say,  they  have  advised 
me  in  my  investments  and  always  right.  In  a 
sense — in  a  very  real  sense — I  owe  a  part  of  my 
wealth  to  your  mother,  and  the  little  that  she  has 
permitted  me  to  do  in  return  for  her  aid  is 
trifling.  I  want  to  do  more.  Please  be  just  to 
your  dear  little  mother,  who  is  truly  a  marvelous 
creature  and  loves  you  beyond  all  other  earthly 
things.  She  lives  only  for  you.  If  it  were  not 
for  you  she  would  pass  on  to  the  spirit  plane 
to-night." 

Victor  listened  to  her  in  a  sullen  meditation. 
The  whole  situation  was  becoming  incredibly 
fantastic,  vaporous  as  the  texture  of  a  dream. 

Mrs.  Joyce  went  on:  "Come  to  my  house  to 
night  for  dinner.  Never  mind  the  morrow  till 
the  morrow  comes.  Come  and  talk  with  some 
friends  of  mine — they  may  help  you." 

He  spoke  thickly:  "I'm  much  obliged,  Mrs. 
Joyce.  I'm  grateful  for  what  you've  done  for 
us,  but  to  take  her  money  or  yours  now  would  be 

68 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

— would  be  dishonest.  I  can't  let  you  feed  us 
any  longer — we've  got  to  fight  this  out  alone." 

"What  will  you  do  with  her  Voices?"  she 
asked. 

"Forget  'em,"  he  answered,  curtly. 

"They'll  force  you  to  remember  them,"  she 
warningly  retorted.  "I  assure  you  they  hold 
your  fate  in  their  hands." 

Mrs.  Ollnee,  returning,  cut  short  the  discussion, 
which  was  growing  heated. 

As  he  drank  his  coffee  Victor  recovered  a  part 
of  his  native  courtesy.  "I'm  going  to  win  out," 
he  said,  with  kindling  eyes.  *  *  It  would  have  been 
a  wonder  if  I  had  found  a  job  the  first  day.  I'm 
going  to  keep  going  till  I  wear  out  my  shoes." 

A  knock  at  the  door  made  his  mother  start. 

1  *  Another  reporter !' '  she  whispered.  * '  They're 
pestering  me  still." 

Victor  rose  with  a  spring.  "I'll  attend  to  this 
reporter  business,"  he  said,  hotly. 

"No,"  interposed  Mrs.  Joyce;  "let  me  go, 
please!" 

He  submitted,  and  she  went  to  meet  the  in 
truder.  Her  quiet,  authoritative  voice  could  be 
heard  saying :  * '  Mrs.  Ollnee  is  not  able  to  see  any 
one.  That  cruel  and  false  article  of  yesterday 
has  completely  upset  her. — No,  I  am  only  her 
friend  and  nurse.  I  have  nothing  to  say  except 
that  the  article  in  the  Star  was  false  and  ma 
lignant." 

Thereupon   she  closed   and   locked   the  door 

6  69 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

and  came  back  quite  serious.  "They've  been 
coming  almost  every  hour,  determined  to  see 
your  mother.  I  would  have  taken  her  away, 
only  she  persisted  in  saying  she  must  remain  here 
till  you  returned." 

"Have  you  been  here  all  day?"  he  asked, 
moved  by  the  thought  of  her  loyalty. 

His  mother  answered.  "Louise  came  about 
ten  this  morning — and  except  for  an  hour  at 
lunch  we've  both  been  here  waiting,  listening." 

This  devotion  on  the  part  of  a  rich  and  busy 
woman  was  deeply  revealing.  The  youth  was 
being  educated  swiftly  into  new  conceptions  of 
human  nature.  His  mother  was  neither  beau 
tiful  nor  wise  nor  witty.  Why  should  she  at 
tract  and  hold  a  lady  like  Mrs.  Joyce?  He 
wondered  if  she  had  been  quite  honest  with  him. 
Would  her  interest  be  the  same  if  The  Voices 
had  not  enriched  her  ? 

She  returned  to  her  invitations.  "Now  put 
on  your  dinner-suit  and  come  with  us,"  she  in 
sisted.  "My  niece,  Leo,  will  be  there — surely 
you  will  respond  to  that  lure?" 

His  mother  laid  her  small  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"Let  us  go,  Victor.  I  am  in  terror  here." 

"Why  did  you  stay?  Why  didn't  you  go  be 
fore?"  he  demanded. 

"Because  The  Voices  said  'Wait!' — and  be 
sides,  I  wanted  to  be  here  when  you  came." 

He  rose.  "You  go.  I  will  come  after  dinner 
and  bring  you  home." 

70 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

Mrs.  Joyce  was  quick  on  the  trail  of  his  intent. 
4  *  You  refuse  to  eat  my  bread !  You  are  rigorous. 
Very  well.  Let  it  be  so.  Come,  Lucy,  let  us 

go." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  seemed  to  listen  a  moment,  then 
rose.  '  *  You'll  surely  come  after  dinner,  Victor  ?' ' 

"Yes,  I'll  come  about  nine,"  he  replied,  in  a 
tone  that  was  hard  and  cold.  And  she  went  away 
deeply  hurt. 

Left  alone,  he  walked  about  the  "ghost-room" 
with  bitterness  deeping  into  fury.  What  were 
these  invisible,  intangible  barriers  which  con 
fined  him?  He  stood  beside  the  old  brown 
table  which  he  had  hated  and  feared  in  his  boy 
hood.  What  silliness  it  represented.  The  pile 
of  slates,  some  of  them  still  bearing  messages  in 
pencil  or  colored  crayon,  offered  themselves  to 
his  hand.  He  took  up  one  of  these  and  read  its 
oracular  statement :  '  *  He  will  come  to  see  the  glory 
of  the  faith.  His  neck  will  bow.  It  is  discipline. 
Do  not  worry.  FATHER."  Here  was  the 
source  of  his  troubles! 

He  dashed  the  slate  to  the  floor  and  ground  it 
under  his  heel.  Catching  the  table  by  the  side 
and  up-ending  it,  he  wrenched  its  legs  off  as  he 
would  have  wrung  the  neck  of  a  vulture.  He 
breathed  upon  it  a  blast  of  contempt  and  hate, 
and,  gathering  it  up  in  fragments,  was  starting  to 
throw  it  into  the  alley  when  the  door  burst  open 
and  his  mother  reappeared,  white,  breathless, 
appalled. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Victor;  what  are  you  doing?"  she  called, 
with  piercing  intonation. 

He  was  shaken  by  her  tone,  her  manner,  but  he 
answered,  'Tm  going  to  throw  this  accursed 
thing  into  the  alley." 

She  put  herself  before  him  with  one  hand 
pressed  upon  her  bosom,  her  breath  weak  and 
fluttering. 

' '  You — shall — not !  You  are  killing  me.  Don't 
you  see  that  is  a  part  of  me.  Don't  you 
know —  Put  it  down  instantly!  My  very  life 
and  soul  are  in  it." 

He  dropped  the  broken  thing  in  a  disordered 
pile  at  her  feet.  Her  anguish,  which  seemed 
both  physical  and  mental,  stunned  him.  As  they 
stood  thus  confronting  each  other  Mrs.  Joyce  re 
turned.  She  seemed  to  comprehend  the  situation 
instantly,  and,  putting  her  arm  about  the  little 
psychic's  waist,  gently  said,  "You'd  better  lie 
down,  Lucy,  you  are  hurt." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  permitted  herself  to  be  led  to  the 
little  couch  silently  sobbing. 

It  was  growing  dusky  in  the  room,  and  the 
youth,  though  still  rebellious,  was  profoundly 
affected  by  this  action.  His  hot  anger  died  away 
and  a  swift  repentance  softened  him.  "Don't 
cry,  mother,"  he  said,  clumsily  kneeling  beside 
her.  "I  didn't  think  you  cared  so  much  about 
the  old  thing." 

Mrs.  Joyce  broke  forth  in  scorn:  "What  .a 
crude  young  barbarian  you  are!  That  table  is 

72 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

something  more  than  a  piece  of  wood  to  her. 
It  is  a  sacred  altar.  It  is  the  place  where  the 
quick  and  the  dead  meet.  It  is  sentient  with  the 
touch  of  spirit  hands — and  you  have  desecrated 
it.  You  have  laid  violent  hands  upon  your 
mother's  innermost  heart.  You  will  destroy  her 
if  you  keep  on  in  this  way." 

At  these  words  the  youth  for  the  first  time 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  vital  faith  which  lay  be 
hind  and  beneath  these  foolish  and  ridiculous 
practices.  No  matter  what  that  worn  table  was 
to  him,  it  stood  for  his  mother's  faith — that  he 
now  saw — and  he  was  sorry. 

"I  can  rebuild  it  again,"  he  said.  "It  is  not 
hopelessly  smashed.  I  will  repair  it  to-mor 


row." 


The  symbolism  which  could  be  read  in  his 
words  seemed  to  comfort  his  mother  and  she  grew 
quieter,  but  her  face  remained  ghastly  pale  and 
her  breathing  troubled. 

Mrs.  Joyce  turned  to  him  again.  "You  can't 
deceive  her.  She  knew  the  instant  you  laid  your 
destroying  hands  on  that  slate." 

He  did  not  doubt  this.  In  some  hidden  way 
his  action  had  reached  and  acted  upon  his  mother 
as  she  was  speeding  down  the  avenue.  Her  sud 
den  return  proved  this — and  his  hair  rose  at  the 
thought  of  her  clairvoyancy,  and  in  answer  to 
Mrs.  Joyce's  question,  "Why  did  you  do  it?"  he 
replied,  sullenly,  but  not  bitterly: 

"I  did  it  because  I  detest  the  thing  and  all 
73 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

that  goes  with  it.  I  have  hated  that  table  all 
my  life." 

"What  did  you  think  your  mother  would 
do?" 

"I  didn't  stop  to  think.  I  only  wanted  to  get 
the  brute  out  of  sight.  I  wanted  to  end  the 
whole  trade  at  once." 

"You've  got  to  be  careful  or  you'll  end  your 
mother's  earth-life.  Let  me  tell  you,  boy,  if  you 
want  to  keep  her  on  this  plane  with  you  you  must 
be  gentle  with  her.  Any  shock,  especially  when 
she  is  in  trance,  is  very  dangerous  to  her." 

Victor  began  to  feel  his  helplessness  in  the 
midst  of  the  intangible  entangling  threads  of  his 
mother's  faith.  He  now  saw  the  folly  of  his 
action,  and  took  an  unexpected  way  of  showing 
his  contrition. 

"If  you'll  forgive  me,  mother,  I'll  go  with  you 
to  Mrs.  Joyce's  dinner.  Come,  let's  get  away 
from  here  for  a  little  while;  I  feel  stifled." 

This  pleased  and  comforted  her  amazingly. 
She  rose  and  placed  one  frail,  cold  hand  about  his 
neck.  "Dear  boy!  I  forgive  you.  You  didn't 
realize  what  you  were  doing." 

Releasing  himself  he  gathered  up  the  fragments 
of  the  table  and  tenderly  examined  them.  "It 
can  be  mended,"  he  reported.  "I'll  do  it  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning." 

A  faint  smile  came  back  to  his  mother's  face. 
"I  don't  mind,  Victor.  I  feel  already  that  this 
has  brought  us  closer  together.  Your  father  is 

74 


VICTOR  THROWS  DOWN  THE  ALTAR 

here — he  is  smiling — and  I  am  happier  than  I've 
been  for  weeks." 

Victor  dressed  for  his  party  with  trembling 
limbs.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  passed  through  a 
tremendous  battle  wherein  he  had  been  defeated 
— and  yet  his  heart  was  strangely  light. 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A   WARNING 

MRS.  JOYCE'S  house  was  a  stone  structure 
of  rather  characterless  design  which  stood 
at  the  intersection  of  a  wide  boulevard  and  one  of 
the  narrower  crosstown  streets,  but  it  seemed 
very  palatial  to  Victor  as  he  wonderingly  entered 
its  looming  granite  portal.  His  mother  tripped 
up  the  stairs  with  the  air  of  one  who  feels  very 
much  at  home. 

A  man  in  snuff-colored  livery  took  his  hat  and 
coat  and  ushered  him  into  a  large  reception- 
room  on  the  left,  and  there  his  hostess  found  him 
some  ten  minutes  later.  "Come  and  meet  my 
brother  from  California,"  she  said,  and  led  the 
way  across  the  hall  into  the  library,  where  a  tall 
man  with  gray  hair  and  mustache  was  talking 
with  a  dark,  alert  and  smoothly  shaven  man  of 
middle  age.  The  one  Mrs.  Joyce  introduced  as 
her  brother,  Mr.  Wood,  and  the  other  as  Mr. 
Carew. 

Victor  was  relieved  to  have  Miss  Wood  enter 
and  greet  him  cordially,  for  the  men  did  not  seem 
to  value  him  sufficiently  to  include  him  in  their 


VICTOR  RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

conversation.  Mr.  Wood  was  reserved  and  the 
tone  of  Carew's  voice  was  cynical. 

Leonora  Wood  was  of  that  severe  type  of 
beauty  which  requires  stately  gowns,  and  Victor 
confessed  that  she  was  quite  the  finest  figure 
of  a  girl  he  had  ever  met,  but  when  Mrs. 
Joyce  said,  "You  are  to  take  Leo  out  to  din 
ner"  he  merely  bowed,  resenting  her  amused 
smile. 

His  seat  at  table  brought  him  next  a  very  old 
lady — Mrs.  Wood,  senior — who  beamed  upon 
him  with  cheerful  interest.  There  were  several 
other  women  of  that  vague  middle  age  which 
does  not  interest  youth. 

Miss  Wood  talked  extremely  well,  and  he  be 
came  interested  in  spite  of  himself. 

"I  wonder  how  much  longer  we're  going  to  be 
lieve  in  'luck'  and  'coincidence,'"  she  said,  after 
some  remark  of  his.  "Maybe  it's  all  thought 
transference  or  telepathy  or  something." 

"Don't  tell  me  you  really  believe  in  such 
things.  Professor  Boyden  says  they  are  all  a 
part  of  the  spineless  mysticism  which  is  sweeping 
over  the  country." 

She  assumed  a  patronizing  air.  "It's  natural 
for  undergraduates  to  quote  their  teachers.  I 
wonder  how  long  it  will  be  before  you  will  con 
sider  them  all  old  fogies." 

He  rose  to  the  defense  of  his  hero.  "Boyden 
will  never  be  an  old  fogy.  He's  the  most  up-to- 
date  man  in  America.  He  really  is  the  only  ex- 

77 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

perimentalist  along  these  lines.     He's  out  for  the 
facts." 

"Your  mother's  Voices  say  he  is  as  blind  as  the 
rest,  wilfully  blind." 

"Do  you  really  hold  stock  in  my  mother's 
Voices?" 

She  gazed  upon  him  in  large-eyed  wonder. 
"Yes,  don't  you?" 

"No.  How  can  they  be  anything  but  a 
delusion?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  only  know  they  are  pro 
foundly  mysterious  and  that  they  tell  me  things 
which  convince  me.  They  seem  to  know  my 
most  secret  thought.  I  have  been  forced  to  be 
lieve  in  them.  My  aunt's  fortune  has  been 
doubled  and  my  own  income  greatly  augmented 
by  their  advice." 

He  took  this  up.  "Tell  me  more  about  that. 
What  did  they  advise  you  to  do  ?" 

"They  advised  buying  certain  stocks  in  a 
machine  for  making  paper  boxes  and  recom 
mended  the  Universal  Traction  Company." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Wood,  senior,  plucked  at 
his  sleeve.  "Louise  tells  me  you're  the  son  of 
our  dear  medium,  Lucy  Ollnee." 

"I  am,  yes,"  he  replied,  rather  ungraciously, 
for  he  was  eager  to  revert  to  Leo. 

"Perhaps  you're  a  medium  yourself,"  the  old 
lady  pursued. 

"Thank  the  Lord,  no!  I  haven't  the  ghost  of 
a  Voice  about  me." 

78 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

She  chuckled.  "At  your  age  one  thinks  only 
of  love  and  dollars.  When  you  are  as  old  as  I 
am  the  next  world  will  interest  you  a  great  deal 
more  than  it  does  now.  Besides,  you  must  be 
lieve  in  spirits  after  they  have  made  you  rich. 
They've  made  Louise  and  Leo  rich — I  suppose 
you  know  that?" 

He  soon  turned  back  to  Leo.  "I  wish  people 
would  not  talk  my  mother's  Voices  to  me.  I 
hear  nothing  else  now." 

"It's  your  mother's  'atmosphere.'  No  one 
thinks  of  anything  else  when  in  her  presence." 

"Don't  you  see  how  intolerable  all  that  is  go 
ing  to  be  for  me?"  he  asked,  with  bitter  gravity. 
"I  can  see  that  she  isn't  exactly  human  even  to 
you.  She's  just  a  sort  of  a  freak.  No  one  loves 
her  or  seeks  her  for  herself  alone,  only  for  what 
she  can  do.  That's  another  reason  why  I  must 
insist  on  her  getting  away  from  this.  I  will  not 
have  her  treated  like  a  wireless  telephone." 

Her  eyes  expressed  more  sympathy  than  she 
put  into  her  voice.  "I  see  what  you  mean ;  but, 
believe  me,  I  had  not  thought  of  her  in  just  that 
light,  and  I  think  you're  quite  wrong  about  my 
aunt.  She  is  really  very  fond  of  your  mother." 

He  was  eager  to  know  more  of  what  this  clear 
sighted  girl  had  seen,  but  her  neighbor,  Mr. 
Carew,  claimed  her,  and  he  was  forced  back  upon 
Grandmother  Wood,  who  talked  of  her  new  faith 
to  him  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 

After  dinner,  while  the  ladies  were  in  the  draw- 
79 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

ing-room  and  the  men  were  smoking  their  cigars, 
the  perturbed  youth  expected  to  be  freed  from 
any  further  inquisition,  for  Philo  Wood  was  ap 
parently  of  that  type  of  man  who  has  no  interest 
in  the  things  he  cannot  turn  into  hard  cash. 
The  merits  of  a  new  strawboard  box-machine 
was  engaging  his  attention  at  this  time,  but,  after 
a  few  minutes  of  polite  discussion  of  the  weather 
and  other  general  topics,  Carew,  the  lawyer, 
turned  to  Victor  and  began  an  interrogation 
which  made  him  wince.  Carew  was  very  nice 
about  it,  but  he  pursued  such  a  well-defined  line 
of  inquiry  that  it  amounted  to  a  cross-examina 
tion.  He  soon  possessed  himself  of  the  fact  that 
Victor  did  not  approve  of  his  mother's  way  of 
life  and  that  he  was  trying  to  secure  employ 
ment  in  order  to  stop  all  further  "fortune-telling  " 
on  his  mother's  part.  "I  don't  believe  in  it," 
he  reiterated. 

"The  amazing  thing  to  me,"  interposed  Wood, 
with  quiet  emphasis,  "is  that  her  predictions 
come  true.  I  'play  the  ponies'  a  bit" — he 
smiled — "and  I  have  tried  to  draw  Mrs.  Ollnee 
into  partnership  with  me.  '  You  have  the  spooks 
point  out  the  winning  horse  to  me,'  said  I  to  her, 
'and  I'll  share  the  pot  with  you.' ' 

"And  she  wouldn't  do  it?"  asked  Carew. 

Wood  seemed  to  be  highly  amused.  "No,  she 
says  her  guides  do  not  sanction  gambling  of 
any  sort.  And  yet  she  advises  Louise  to  buy  into 
a  new  transportation  scheme  that  looks  to  me 

80 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

like  the  worst  kind  of  a  gamble.  My  advice 
counts  for  nothing  against  these  Voices." 

"That's  true,"  admitted  Carew.  "You  might 
as  well  be  the  west  wind  so  far  as  influencing  her 
goes.  Since  'Mr.  Astor'  butted  into  the  game 
my  services  are  good  only  in  so  far  as  they  drive 
tandem  with  his!  Now  you  say  you  have  no 
belief  in  the  thing,"  he  said,  turning  again  to 
Victor.  ' '  How  is  that  ?  How  did  that  come 
about?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  I've  given  some  study 
to  what  Professor  Boyden  calls  delusional  hys 
teria,"  Victor  responded. 

Wood  smiled  cynically.  "My  sister  won't 
mind  what  you  call  it  so  long  as  it  enables  your 
mother  to  designate  the  winning  stocks." 

The  attitude  of  each  of  these  men  was  that  of 
watchful  tolerance,  and  Victor  chafed  under 
their  assumption  of  superior  wisdom.  He  plainly 
perceived  that  Wood  was  using  the  psychic  for 
his  own  ends,  and  this  angered  him.  He  shut 
up  like  a  clam  and  left  the  room  as  soon  as  he 
could  decently  do  so. 

He  made  his  way  to  where  Leonora  was  sitting 
on  a  sofa  in  the  library  and  took  his  seat  beside 
her,  with  intent  to  continue  the  conversation 
which  they  had  begun  at  the  dinner,  but  he  forgot 
his  problems  as  he  looked  into  her  merry,  candid 
eyes. 

Her  first  word  was  a  compliment  to  his  mother. 
"How  pretty  she  looks  to-night!  No  one  would 

81 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

suspect  her  of  being  'the  dark  and  subtle  siren' 
of  yesterday's  Star.  Her  face  is  positively  an 
gelic  at  this  moment.  How  beautiful  she  must 
have  been  as  a  girl!  I  must  say  you  do  not 
resemble  her." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said. 

She  laughingly  explained.  "I  mean  you  are 
so  tall  and  dark.  You  must  resemble  your  father. ' ' 

"I  believe  I  do,  although  I  cannot  remember 
him." 

"I  wonder  if  he  had  your  absurd  pride.  Aunt 
Louise  tells  me  you  absolutely  refuse  to  accept 
any  favor  from  her,  and  that  you  were  practically 
forced  into  coming  to  dinner  to-night.  Is  that 
true?" 

He  leaned  toward  her  with  intense  seriousness. 
"How  would  you  feel  if  you  had  suddenly  learned 
that  all  your  clothing,  your  food,  your  theater 
tickets — everything  had  been  paid  for  in  money 
drawn  from  strangers  by  means  of — well — 
hypnotism." 

' '  If  I  believed  that  I  should  feel  as  you  do,  but 
I  don't.  It  is  not  so  simple  as  all  that.  Your 
mother's  power  seems  very  real  to  me,  and  so 
far  as  I  can  now  see  she  has  given  us  all  value 
received  for  every  dollar.  By  rights  one-half  of 
all  our  profits  belongs  to  her,  or,  if  you  prefer,  to 
her  Voices.  Do  you  know  that  these  Voices  will 
not  permit  her  to  retain  more  than  a  scanty 
living  out  of  all  the  wealth  she  makes  for  others  ? 
Did  you  know  that?" 

it. 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

"I  know  she  lives  in  a  shabby  apartment,  and 
she  tells  me  that  she  is  entirely  under  the  con 
trol  of  these  'guides.' ' 

"Yes,  they  refuse  to  let  her  keep  anything 
beyond  what  she  actually  needs  for  herself  and 
your  education.  I  think  all  that  should  be 
counted  in  on  her  side,  don't  you  ?  The  fact  that 
she  is  not  enriching  herself  surely  makes  her  part 
in  the  transaction  a  clean  one." 

He  sank  away  from  her  and  brooded  over  this 
thought  for  a  minute  or  two  before  he  replied. 
"But  the  whole  thing  is  so  preposterous.  Have 
you  seen  her  slate-writing  'stunt'?" 

"Many  times;  but  I  don't  think  you  should 
call  it  a  'stunt.'" 

"Come,  now,  give  me  your  honest  opinion. 
Do  you  think  my  mother  unconsciously  cheats  ?" 

She  faced  him  with  convincing  candor.  "No, 
I  don't.  I  think  she  is  perfectly  simple  and 
straightforward,  and  I  believe  the  writing  is 
supernormal." 

"How  can  you  believe  that?  You're  a  col 
lege  girl,  mother  tells  me.  Don't  the  belief  in 
these  things  wipe  out  everything  you  have  been 
taught  at  school?  It  certainly  rips  science  into 
strips  for  me,  or  would — if  I  believed  it.  It 
makes  a  fool  of  a  man  like  Boyden,  that's  a  sure 
thing." 

Mrs.  Joyce,  looking  across  the  room,  smiled  in 
delight  at  the  charming  picture  these  young 
people  made  in  their  animated  conversation. 

83 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Doubtless  they  were  glowing  over  Tennyson's 
position  in  modern  poetry  or  the  question  of 
Meredith's  ultimate  standing  in  fiction. 

What  the  youth  was  really  saying  to  the  maid 
was  this:  "What  did  you  get  out  of  it  all? 
What  did  The  Voices  give  you?" 

"They  told  me  to  study  composition,  for  one 
thing.  They  told  me  I  would  compose  success 
ful  songs,  with  the  aid  of — of  Schubert."  She 
was  a  little  embarrassed  at  the  end. 

"And  you  took  all  that  in?" 

She  colored.  "I'm  afraid  I  didn't  really  be 
lieve  the  Schubert  part.  However,  I'm  study 
ing  composition  on  the  chance  of  their  being  right." 

' '  You  say  they  advise  you  on  money  matters. 
How  do  they  do  that?" 

"They  advise  my  uncle  through  me  to  sell 
stock  in  a  certain  company  and  buy  in  another. 
They  told  me  to  withdraw  my  money  from  my 
California  bank  and  put  it  into  this  Universal 
Traction  Company." 

"Did  you  do  that?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  sorry.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  their 
advice.  I  wish  you  would  put  your  money  back 
where  it  came  from  at  once." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  scares  me  to  think  of  your  going 
into  anything  on  my  mother's  advice." 

"But  it  wasn't  your  mother's  advice.  It  was 
the  advice  of  a  great  financier." 

84 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

"You  mean  a  dead  financier?" 

"Yes." 

He  did  not  laugh  at  this;  on  the  contrary,  his 
face  darkened.  "I've  heard  about  that.  Did 
he  advise  your  uncle  to  go  into  this  same  trans 
portation  company  ?" 

"Yes;  all  our  friends  are  in  it." 

"You  mean  everybody  that  went  to  my 
mother  for  advice  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  many  go  to  her  for  help  of  this  kind?" 

"No,  not  many;  she  gives  sittings  only  to  my 
aunt  and  her  friends  now.  There  were  several 
big  business  men  of  the  city  who  went  regularly. 
Why,  Mr.  Pettus,  the  president  of  the  Traction 
Company,  relies  upon  her." 

The  absurdity  of  these  great  capitalists  going 
to  his  mother's  threadbare  little  apartment  for 
counsel  in  ways  to  win  millions  made  Victor 
smile.  He  said,  with  a  mock  sigh,  "I  wish  these 
Voices  would  tell  me  where  to  find  a  job  that 
would  pay  fifteen  dollars  a  week." 

"They  will — if  you  give  yourself  up  to  them. 
You  must  have  faith." 

"Oh,  but  the  whole  thing  is  dotty.  Why 
should  a  poor  farmer  like  my  grandfather  by 
just  merely  dying  become  a  great  financier?" 
Again  his  brow  darkened  and  his  voice  deepened 
with  contempt.  "It's  all  poppycock!  If  he 
knows  so  much  about  the  future  why  didn't  he 
warn  my  mother  against  that  reporter  that  came 

7  8S 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

in  the  other  day  to  do  her  up  ?  Why  didn't  he 
permit  me  to  stay  on  at  Winona  and  get  my 
degree?" 

The  girl  was  troubled  by  his  questions  and 
evaded  them.  "It  must  have  been  hard  to 
leave  in  the  midst  of  your  final  term." 

'  *  It  was  punishing.  It  was  like  being  yanked 
out  of  the  box  in  the  middle  of  an  inning,  with 
the  game  all  coming  your  way." 

She  knew  enough  of  baseball  slang  to  catch 
his  meaning  and  she  smiled  as  she  asked,  * '  Why 
don't  you  go  back?" 

"Simply  because  I  couldn't  stand  the  chinning 
I'd  get  from  my  classmates." 

"Can't  you  go  on  with  your  studies  here  and 
pass  your  examination?" 

"I  might  do  that  if  I  could  get  a  job  that 
would  pay  me  my  board  and  leave  me  a  little 
time  to  study." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  smiling  archness. 
"Why  not  drive  an  automobile?  You  could 
carry  your  books  around  under  the  seat  and 
study  while  waiting  outside  the  shops  or  the 
theaters." 

"Good  idea!"  he  exclaimed,  responding  to  her 
humor.  "I'm  pretty  handy  with  the  machine. 
One  of  my  friends  up  at  Winona  had  one.  I  hope 
you  own  a  car."  He  said  this  with  intent  to 
indicate  his  growing  desire  to  be  near  her. 

Mrs.  Joyce  came  over  at  this  moment  to  in 
quire  what  they  were  so  jolly  about. 

86 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

Leo  answered:  "I  was  just  suggesting  that 
Mr.  Ollnee  become  a  chauffeur.  He  could  go  on 
with  his  studies — " 

"Capital!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Joyce.  "The  man 
I  have  is  liable  to  drink  and  very  crusty  in  the 
bargain.  You  may  have  his  place." 

"I'm  afraid  I  wouldn't  do,"  he  responded.  "I 
might  get  crusty,  too." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  liable  to  drink,"  said  Leo. 

"No,  sarsaparilla  is  my  only  tipple.  But  this 
is  all  Miss  Wood's  joke,"  he  explained. 

"I'm  not  joking,  indeed  I'm  not,"  the  girl 
retorted.  "I  don't  know  of  any  skill  that  is 
more  in  demand  just  now  than  that  of  a  chauf 
feur.  I  know  of  one  who  is  studying  the  piano. 
I  don't  see  any  reason  why  Mr.  Ollnee  should  not 
take  it  up  temporarily.  It's  perfectly  honorable. 
Witness  Bernard  Shaw's  play." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  looking  down  on  any  job  just 
now,"  he  disclaimed.  "All  I  ask  is  a  chance  to 
earn  a  living  while  I'm  finding  out  what  my 
best  points  are." 

Mr.  Wood  beckoned  and  Leo  rose  to  meet  him. 
"We  must  be  off,"  he  said. 

Victor  bade  Leo  good-night  with  such  feeling 
of  intimacy  and  friendliness  as  he  had  not  hoped 
to  attain  for  any  one  connected  with  Mrs.  Joyce. 
There  was  something  in  the  pressure  of  her  hand 
and  in  the  sympathetic  tone  of  her  voice  at  the 
last  that  he  remembered  with  keen  pleasure. 

Mr.  Carew  was  deep  in  conversation  with  Mrs. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Ollnee,  and  Victor  drew  near  with  intent  to 
know  what  was  being  said.  The  lawyer  was  very 
gentle,  very  respectful,  but  Mrs.  Ollnee  was  un 
dergoing  a  thorough  investigation  at  his  hands. 
He  represented  the  calm,  slow-spoken,  but  very 
keen  inquisitor,  and  the  psychic  was  already 
feeling  the  force  of  his  delicate,  yet  penetrating 
sarcasm. 

"I  would  advise  you  not  to  trust  your  Voices 
in  matters  that  relate  to  life,  limb,  or  fortune," 
he  said,  suavely,  and  a  veiled  threat  ran  beneath 
his  words.  '  *  These  Voices  may  de  deceiving  you/ ' 

Mrs.  Ollnee  protested  with  vehemence.  "Mr. 
Carew,  I  arn  content  to  put  my  soul  into  their 
keeping." 

He  bowed  and  smiled.  "Your  faith  is  very 
wonderful."  Then  he  added,  with  a  glance  at 
Mrs.  Joyce,  who  was  listening,  "For  myself,  I 
would  not  put  my  second-best  coat  in  their 
keeping." 

Mrs.  Joyce  intervened  at  this  point,  and,  after 
some  little  discussion  of  a  conventional  topic, 
offered  to  send  Victor  and  his  mother  home  in 
her  car.  Victor  was  not  pleased  by  her  offer. 
It  was  only  putting  him  just  that  much  deeper 
into  her  debt,  but  he  could  not  well  refuse, 
especially  as  his  mother  accepted  it  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

On  the  way  he  took  up  the  question  of  Carew' s 
warning.  "He's  right,  mother.  You  must  stop 
advising  people  to  buy  or  sell." 

88 


VICTOR  RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

"Why  so,  Victor?" 

* '  Suppose  you  should  advise  buying  the  wrong 
thing?" 

''But  they  don't  advise  the  wrong  thing, 
Victor.  They  are  always  right." 

"Always?" 

"Nobody  has  ever  reported  a  failure,"  she 
declared. 

"Well,  it's  sure  to  come.  Why  should  father 
or  grandfather  know  any  more  about  stocks  now 
than  he  did  before  he  died?" 

She  was  a  little  nettled  by  his  tone.  "They 
have  the  constant  advice  of  a  great  financier  on 
that  side." 

"So  Miss  Wood  told  me.  Who  is  this  great 
financier  who  is  so  willing  to  help  you  decide  what 
to  do  with  other  people's  money  ?"  he  asked, 
cuttingly. 

She  hesitated  a  little  before  saying  "Commo 
dore  Vanderbilt." 

He  could  not  keep  back  a  derisive  shout. 
"Vanderbilt!  Well,  and  you  believe  'the  great 
commodore*  comes  to  our  little  hole  of  a  home 
to  advise  us  ?  Oh,  mother,  that's  too  ridiculous. ' ' 

"My  son,"  she  began  with  some  asperity, 
"we've  been  all  over  that  ground  before.  You 
don't  realize  how  you  hurt,  how  you  dishonor 
me  when  you  doubt  me  and  laugh  at  me." 

He  felt  the  pain  in  her  voice  and  began  an 
apology.  "I  don't  mean  to  laugh  at  you, 
mother.  But  you  must  remember  that  I  have 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

been  a  student  for  four  years  in  the  atmosphere 
of  a  great  university,  and  all  this  business — I've 
got  to  be  honest  with  you — it's  all  raving  mad 
ness  to  me.  You  certainly  must  stop  advising  in 
business  matters.  Mr.  Carew  to-night  intended 
to  give  you  warning." 

"I  know  he  did,"  she  quietly  responded. 

"He  meant  to  be  kind.  He  meant  to  say  that 
you  were  liable  at  any  moment  to  be  held  ac 
countable  for  advice  that  went  wrong.  He  told 
me  that  the  courts  were  full  of  cases  where  me 
diums  had  led  people  into  willing  their  property 
away,  or  where  they  had  juggled  with  somebody 
else's  fortunes.  He  told  me  of  having  convicted 
one  woman  of  this  and  of  having  sent  her  to  jail." 

"But  have  I  prospered  from  these  advices?" 
she  asked,  indignantly.  "Can  any  one  accuse 
me  of  getting  rich  out  of  my  'work'?  Please 
consider  that." 

'  *  That  does  puzzle  me.  I  can't  see  why  *  they ' 
help  others  and  leave  us  with  a  bare  living. 
And,  most  important  of  all,  why  do  'they'  per 
mit  you  to  be  hounded  this  way?  Why  didn't 
'they'  warn  you?  Why  don't  'they'  help  me?" 

She  sighed  submissively.  "Of  course  they 
have  their  own  reasons.  In  good  time  all  will 
be  revealed  to  us.  They  are  wiser  than  we, 
for  all  the  past  and  all  the  future  are  unrolled 
before  their  eyes." 

This  reply  silenced  him.  Small  and  gentle  as 
she  was,  Victor  realized  that  she  could  resist 

90 


VICTOR   RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

with  the  strength  of  iron  when  it  came  to  an 
assault  upon  her  faith. 

Above  the  knob  of  their  own  door  they  found 
a  folded  newspaper,  and  this  Victor  seized  with 
misgiving.  "I  wonder  what  is  coming  next?" 
he  said. 

She  paled  with  a  definite  premonition  of 
trouble.  "Open  it  at  once,"  she  commanded. 

He  was  as  eager  as  she,  for  he,  too,  foresaw 
some  new  attack  upon  their  peace.  Lighting  the 
gas,  he  opened  the  paper  with  trembling  hands. 
On  the  first  page  was  his  own  photograph  and 
the  story  of  his  leaving  college  to  defend  his 
mother.  Everything,  even  to  the  parting  with 
Frenson,  was  set  down,  luridly,  side  by  side  with 
the  report  of  a  celebrated  murder  trial. 

At  sight  of  this  new  indignity  his  sense  of 
youth  and  weakness  came  back  upon  him  and, 
crumpling  up  the  paper,  he  flung  it  upon  the 
floor  in  impotent  rage. 

''That  ends  the  fight  here,"  he  said.  "How 
can  I  go  about  this  town  seeking  work  to 
morrow?  Everybody  will  know  my  story,  and, 
what's  more,  here  is  your  address  given  in  full. 
Don't  you  see  that  makes  it  impossible  for 
either  of  us  to  remain  here  another  day?" 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  indomitable 
little  psychic  quailed  before  the  persistent  malice 
of  her  foes.  The  splintered  altar  of  her  faith  lying 
in  a  disordered  heap  upon  the  floor  symbolized 
the  estrangement  which  she  felt  between  her 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

invisible  guides,  her  son,  and  herself.  Her  ma 
ternal  anxiety  had  developed  swiftly  in  these 
few  hours  of  blissful  companionship,  and  the 
world  of  wealth  and  comfort — for  her  boy's  sake 
— had  become  suddenly  of  enormous  importance 
to  her.  She  wished  him  to  be  a  happy  man,  and 
this  desire  weakened  her  abstract  sense  of  duty 
to  the  race.  She  spoke  aloud  in  a  tone  of 
entreaty,  addressing  herself  to  the  intangible 
essences  about  her.  "Father,  are  you  here? 
Speak  to  me,  help  me,  I  need  you." 

Victor  turned  upon  her  with  darkened  brow. 
"Oh,  for  God's  sake,  stop  that!  I  don't  want 
any  advice  from  the  air." 

She  persisted.  "Paul,  come  to  me!  Tell  me 
what  to  do.  Please  come!" 

Her  voice  was  thrilling  with  its  weakness  and 
appeal,  but  Victor  was  furious.  He  refused  to 
listen.  His  brow  was  set  and  stern. 

At  last  she  cried  out,  poignantly,  "They  are 
not  here.  They  have  deserted  us.  What  shall 
I  do?"  She  turned  toward  the  table.  "Re 
build  my  altar.  You  said  you  would.  Restore 
that  and  perhaps  they  will  come  to  us  again. 
They  are  angry  with  me  now.  They  have  left 
me,  perhaps  forever." 

"If  'they'  have  I  shall  be  glad  of  it,"  he  re 
turned,  brutally.  "  'They'  have  been  a  curse  to 
you  and  to  me,  also.  We  are  better  off  without 
them.  Come,  let  us  pack  up  the  few  things 
we  have  and  go  away  into  the  West,  where  no  one 

92 


VICTOR  RECEIVES  A  WARNING 

will  know  even  so  much  as  our  name.  That  is 
the  only  way  left  open  for  us." 

"No,  no,"  she  cried  out,  "that  is  impossible. 
I  must  remain  here.  I  must  wait  until  they 
come  back  to  me.  I  can't  go  now,  and  you  must 
not  desert  me,"  she  ended,  and  in  her  voice  was 
something  very  pitiful. 

He  moved  away  from  her  and  took  his  seat  in 
sullen  rage.  For  a  long  time  he  did  not  even 
look  at  her,  though  he  knew  she  was  waiting  and 
listening. 

At  last  he  rose,  and  his  voice  was  harsh  and 
hoarse.  "Mother,  my  mind  is  made  up.  There's 
no  use  talking  against  it.  I  leave  this  city  to 
morrow  morning.  I  shall  go  as  far  as  my  money 
will  carry  me.  I  shall  change  my  name  and  get 
rid  of  this  whole  accursed  business.  I've  hated 
it,  I've  hated  your  'ghost-room'  and  your  Voices 
all  my  life,  and  this  is  the  end  of  it  for  me.  If 
you  will  not  go  with  me  then  I  must  leave  you 
behind." 

She  uttered  a  moaning  cry  of  grief  and  ran  like 
one  stricken  into  her  room,  flinging  herself  face 
downward  upon  her  bed.  He  listened  for  a  few 
moments  with  something  tugging  at  his  heart 
strings,  but  his  face  was  set  in  unrelenting  lines. 
Then  he  rose  and  set  to  work  repacking  his  trunk. 


VI 

VICTOR   IS    CHECKED   IN   HIS   FLIGHT 

WHEN  Victor  woke  from  his  uneasy  sleep 
next  morning  his  first  glance  was  toward  his 
mother's  room  wherein  he  had  seen  her  vanish 
in  an  agony  of  grief  and  despair.  All  was  quiet, 
and  after  dressing  himself — still  firmly  resolved 
upon  flight — he  went  to  the  door  and  silently 
peered  in. 

She  was  sleeping  peacefully,  her  thin  hands 
folded  on  her  breast,  and  he  drew  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"I  am  glad  she's  able  to  sleep,"  he  said,  and 
stole  back  to  the  pantry. 

He  studied  its  sparse  supplies  with  care. 
There  was  not  much  to  do  with,  but  he  boiled 
some  eggs  and  made  coffee  very  quietly,  with 
intent  to  let  his  mother  sleep  as  long  as  she 
could.  He  found  himself  less  savage  than  the 
night  before. 

"I  can't  leave  till  she  wakes,"  he  said  to  him 
self,  "but  I'm  going,  all  the  same." 

In  order  to  pass  the  time  of  waiting  he  went 
down  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  find  the  morning 

94 


CHECKED   IN   HIS  FLIGHT 

paper.  He  opened  it  with  apprehension,  but 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  upon  finding  no  further 
"scare  heads"  of  himself.  The  only  reference 
to  his  mother  came  in  the  midst  of  an  editorial 
advocating  the  cleaning  out  of  all  the  healers, 
palmists,  fortune-tellers,  and  mediums  in  the 
city.  With  lofty  virtue  the  writer  went  on  to 
say  that  the  Star  had  refused  to  advertise  the 
business  of  these  people,  no  matter  what  the 
pecuniary  reward,  and  that  it  purposed  a  con 
tinuous  campaign.  "We  intend  to  pursue  all 
such  women  as  Mrs.  Ollnee,  who  fasten  upon 
their  credulous  dupes  like  leeches,"  he  declared. 

As  Victor  read  this  paragraph  he  caught  again 
the  violence  of  contrast  between  the  woman 
pictured  by  the  pen  of  the  editor  and  the  pale, 
sweet,  mild-voiced  little  woman  who  was  his 
mother.  It  would  have  been  funny  had  it  not 
been  so  serious  and  so  personal.  Furthermore, 
the  paragraph  strengthened  him  in  his  deter 
mination  to  leave  the  city,  and  he  still  hoped  to 
be  able  to  persuade  his  mother  to  go  with  him. 

At  eight  o'clock  he  once  more  tiptoed  in  to 
see  if  she  still  slept,  and  finding  her  in  the  same 
position  his  heart  softened  with  pity.  "She 
must  have  been  completely  tired  out,  poor  little 
mother!  I'm  afraid  what  I  said  to  her  worried 
her." 

After  another  hour  of  impatient  waiting  he 
again  entered  her  room  and  studied  her  more 
intently.  There  was  something  suggestive  of 

95 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

death  in  the  folded  hands  and  he  could  detect 
no  breathing.  Her  face  was  as  pale  as  that  of 
a  corpse,  and  his  blood  chilled  a  little  as  he  ap 
proached  her.  He  called  to  her  at  last,  but  she 
did  not  stir. 

Stepping  to  her  bedside,  he  laid  his  palm  upon 
her  wrist.  It  was  cold  as  ice,  and  he  started  back 
filled  with  fear.  * '  Mother !  mother  !  Are  you  ill  ?" 
he  called.  She  gave  no  sign  of  life. 

For  a  long  time  he  stood  there,  rigid  with  fear, 
not  knowing  what  to  do.  He  knew  no  one  in 
all  the  city  upon  whom  he  could  call  save  Mrs. 
Joyce  and  Leo,  and  he  did  not  know  their  street 
or  number.  He  felt  himself  utterly  alone,  help 
less,  ignorant  as  a  babe,  and  in  the  presence  of 
death. 

Gradually  his  brain  cleared.  Sorrow  over 
came  his  instinctive  awe  of  a  dead  body.  He 
felt  once  more  the  pulseless  arm  and  studied 
closely  the  rigid  face.  "She  is  gone!'*  he  sob- 
bingly  cried,  "and  I  was  so  cruel  to  her  last 
night!" 

The  memory  of  his  harsh  voice,  his  brutal 
words,  came  back  to  plague  him,  now  that  she 
was  deaf  to  his  remorse.  How  little,  how  gentle 
she  was,  and  how  self-sacrificing  she  had  been 
for  him!  "She  burned  out  her  very  soul  for 
me,"  he  acknowledged. 

He  remained  beside  her  thus  till  the  sound  of 
a  crying  babe  on  the  floor  below  suggested  to 
him  the  presence  of  neighbors.  Hastening  down- 

96 


CHECKED   IN   HIS  FLIGHT 

stairs,  he  knocked  upon  the  first  door  he  came 
to  with  frantic  insistence. 

A  slatternly  young  woman  with  a  crown  of 
flaming  red-gold  hair  came  to  the  door.  She 
smiled  in  greeting,  but  his  first  words  startled  her. 

"  My  mother  is  dead.  Come  up  and  help  me. 
I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

His  tone  carried  conviction,  and  the  girl  did 
not  hesitate  a  moment.  She  turned  and  called: 
"Father,  come  here  quick.  Mrs.  Ollnee  is  dead." 

An  old  man  with  weak  eyes  and  a  loose-hung 
mouth  shuffled  forward.  To  him  the  girl  ex 
plained:  "This  is  Mrs.  Olmee's  son.  He  says  his 
mother  is  dead.  I'm  going  up  there.  You  look 
out  for  the  baby."  She  turned  back  to  Victor. 
4 'When  did  she  die?" 

"I  found  her  cold  and  still  this  morning." 

"Have  you  called  a  doctor?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  of  any  to  call." 

"Jimmie!"  she  shrieked. 

A  boy's  voice  answered,  "What  ye  want, 
maw?" 

"Jimmie,  you  hustle  into  your  clothes  and  run 
down  the  street  to  Doctor  Sill's  office  and  tell 
him  to  come  up  here  right  away.  Hurry  now!" 

Closing  the  door  behind  her,  she  started 
resolutely  up  the  stairway,  and  her  action  gave 
Victor  a  grateful  sense  of  relief. 

"What  do  you  think  ailed  her?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  She  seemed  all  right  last 
night  when  I  went  to  bed." 

97 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

This  woman,  young  in  years,  was  old  in  expe 
rience,  that  wras  evident,  for  she  proceeded  un 
hesitatingly  to  the  silent  bedside  with  that  cour 
age  to  meet  death  which  seems  native  to  all 
women.  She,  too,  listened  and  felt  for  signs  of 
life  and  found  none.  "I  reckon  you're  right," 
she  said,  quietly.  "She's  cold  as  a  stone." 

At  her  words  the  strong  young  fellow  gave  way. 
He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  sobbing,  tortured 
by  the  thought  that  his  bitter  and  savage  assault 
and  expressed  resolve  to  leave  her  had  been  the 
cause  of  his  mother's  death.  "What  can  I  do ?" 
he  asked,  when  he  was  able  to  speak.  "I  must 
do  something — she  was  so  good  to  me." 

The  young  woman,  looking  upon  him  with 
large  tolerance  and  a  certain  measure  of  admira 
tion,  replied:  "There's  nothing  to  do  now  but 
wait  for  the  doctor.  You'd  better  come  down 
with  me  and  have  some  coffee." 

He  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  eating  or 
drinking,  but  he  needed  human  companionship. 
Therefore  he  followed  his  neighbor  down  the 
stairs  and  into  her  cluttered  little  living-room 
with  submissive  gratitude.  The  home  was 
slovenly,  but  it  was  glorified  by  kindliness.  A 
tousled  baby  of  eighteen  months  was  keeping 
the  old  man  busy  and  a  small  boy  of  eight  or 
nine  was  struggling  into  his  knickerbockers,  and 
Victor,  thrust  into  the  midst  of  this  hearty,  dirty, 
noisy  household,  remembered  with  increasing  re 
spect  his  mother's  dainty  housekeeping.  "She 

98 


CHECKED   IN   HIS   FLIGHT 

was  a  lady,"  he  said  to  himself,  in  definition  of 
the  difference  between  her  apartment  and  this. 
"Her  home  was  poor,  but  it  was  never  ratty." 

Mrs.  Bowers  was  kindness  and  consideration 
itself.  Her  father,  deaf  and  partly  paralytic, 
was  treated  gently,  although  he  was  irritatingly 
slow  of  comprehension  and  insisted  on  knowing 
all  about  what  had  taken  place  up-stairs.  It 
pained  and  disgusted  Victor  inexpressibly  to 
have  his  mother's  condition  bawled  into  the 
old  man's  ears,  but  he  could  not  reasonably 
interfere. 

He  thought  of  Mrs.  Joyce,  knowing  that  his 
mother  would  want  to  have  her  instantly  in 
formed.  "I  ought  to  telephone  some  friends," 
he  said  to  Mrs.  Bowers.  "Where  is  the  nearest 
'phone?" 

She  told  him,  and  he  went  out  and  down  the 
steps  in  haste  to  let  Mrs.  Joyce  know  of  his  tragic 
bereavement,  and  when  at  the  drug-store  near  by 
he  finally  succeeded  in  getting  communication 
with  the  house  he  was  deeply  disappointed  to  be 
told  by  the  butler  that  Mrs.  Joyce  was  not  down 
and  could  not  be  disturbed  so  early  in  the 
morning. 

"But  I  must  see  her,"  he  insisted.  "My 
mother,  Mrs.  Ollnee,  her  friend,  is — is — very  sick. 
I  am  Victor,  her  son,  and  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Joyce 
would  want  to  speak  to  me." 

The  butler's  voice  changed.  "Oh,  very  well, 
Mr.  Ollnee,"  he  replied,  knowing  the  intimacy 

99 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

which    existed    between    his    mistress    and    the 
psychic.     ''Just  hold  the  line;    I'll  call  her." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  calm,  cultivated 
voice  of  Mrs.  Joyce  came  over  the  'phone,  but  it 
was  worth  the  waiting  for.  "Who  is  it?"  she 
asked. 

'  *  Mrs.  Joyce,  this  is  Victor  Ollnee.  My  mother 
is  very,  very  ill.  I'm  afraid  she's  dead." 

He  heard  her  gasp  of  pain  and  surprise  as  she 
called:  "Your  mother!  Why  she  seemed  per 
fectly  well  last  night." 

"I  found  her  lying  cold  and  still  this  morning. 
I  can't  detect  any  pulse  or  any  breathing. 
Can't  you  come  over  at  once  ?  Please  do.  I  don't 
know  a  soul  in  the  city  but  you,  and  I'm  in  great 
trouble." 

"You  poor  boy!  Of  course  I'll  come.  I'll  be 
over  instantly.  Have  you  called  a  doctor  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  of  any." 

"Where  are  you  now?" 

"At  the  corner  drug-store." 

"Is  any  one  with  your  mother?" 

"No,  but  the  woman  below  has  been  up.  She 
is  quite  sure  my  mother  is  dead." 

'  *  Gracious  heavens !  I  can't  realize  it.  Good- 
by  for  a  few  minutes.  I'll  come  at  once." 

Victor  returned  to  Mrs.  Bowers's  apartment 
with  a  glow  of  grateful  affection  for  Mrs.  Joyce. 
It  was  wonderful  what  comfort  and  security 
came  to  him  with  her  voice  so  sincerely  filled  with 
compassion  and  desire  to  help.  He  wondered  if 


IOO 


CHECKED   IN   HIS   FLIGHT 

Leo  would  come  with  her,- and  asked  himselt  liow 
the  news  of  his  bereavetn  ei/t\T^Qiiid^f^pjt'',jife^\ 
Her  attitude  toward  him  had  been  that  of  the 
elder  sister  who  felt  herself  also  to  be  the  wiser, 
but  he  did  not  resent  that  now. 

He  thought  of  the  effect  of  his  mother's  death 
upon  the  press.  Would  the  Star  forego  its  ma 
lignant  assault  upon  her  character  now  that 
she  was  gone  beyond  its  reach?  Would  those 
who  threatened  her  with  arrest  be  remorseful? 

Mrs.  Bowers  persuaded  him  to  take  another 
cup  of  hot  coffee,  and  then  together  they  returned 
to  the  little  apartment  above  to  wait  for  the  com 
ing  of  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Joyce.  The  young 
mother  became  philosophical  at  once.  "After  a 
body  gets  to  be  forty  I  tell  you  he  don't  know 
what's  going  to  happen  next.  I  reckon  you 
better  set  here  where  you  can't  see  the  bed,"  she 
added,  kindly.  "It  don't  do  any  good,  and  it 
only  makes  you  grieve  the  harder." 

He  obeyed  her  like  a  child  and  listened  through 
his  mist  of  tears  as  she  rambled  on.  "I've  had 
my  share  of  trouble,"  she  explained.  "First 
my  mother  went,  then  my  oldest  boy,  then  my 
husband  took  sick.  Yes,  a  body  has  to  face 
trouble  about  so  often,  anyway,  and,  besides,  I 
don't  suppose  your  mother  was  afraid  of  death, 
anyhow.  I've  known  all  along  what  her  busi 
ness  was,  ever  since  I  came  into  the  house,  and 
I've  been  up  to  see  her  a  few  times.  Still  I'm 
not  much  of  a  believer.  Dad  is,  though.  It's 
8  10 1 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

his  greatest  .affliction  that  he  can't  hear  The 
Voices  any  more  -I  want  to  say  I  believe  in 
your  mother.  She  was  a  mighty  fine  woman; 
but  the  docterin  of  spiritualism  I  never  could 
swaller,  notwithstanding  I  grew  up  'longside 
of  it." 

The  sound  of  a  decisive  step  on  the  stairs  cut 
her  short.  "I  bet  a  cookie  that's  the  doctor!" 

A  clear,  crisp,  incisive  voice  responded  to  her 
greeting  at  the  door,  and  a  moment  later  a  beard 
less,  rather  fat  young  fellow  was  confronting 
Victor  with  professional,  smiling  eyes.  ''You're 
not  the  patient,"  he  stated,  rather  than  asked. 
Victor  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  the  bed. 

With  quick  step  the  physician  entered  the  bed 
room  and  set  to  work  upon  the  motionless  form 
with  methodical  haste.  He  was  still  busy  in  this 
way  when  the  whir  of  a  motor  car  announced 
Mrs.  Joyce. 

Victor  was  at  the  door  to  meet  her,  and  when 
she  saw  him  she  opened  her  arms  and  took  him 
to  her  broad ,  maternal  bosom .  ' '  You  poor  boy ! " 
she  said,  patting  his  shoulder.  "You're  having 
more  than  your  share  of  trouble." 

He  frankly  sobbed  out  his  penitence  and  grief. 
"Oh,  Mrs.  Joyce!  She's  gone,  and  I  was  so  hard 
last  night.  I'll  never  forgive  myself  for  what 
I  said  to  her." 

She  again  patted  him  on  the  shoulder  with  in 
tent  to  comfort  him.  "There,  there!  I  don't 
believe  you  have  anything  to  reproach  yourself 

102 


CHECKED   IN    HIS   FLIGHT 

for,  and,  then,  remember  your  mother's  beau 
tiful  faith.  She  has  not  gone  far  away.  Her 
heaven  is  not  distant.  She  is  very  near.  She  has 
merely  cast  off  the  garment  we  call  flesh.  She 
is  here,  close  beside  you,  closer  than  ever  before, 
touching  you,  knowing  what  you  think  and  feel." 

In  this  way  she  comforted  him,  and  in  a  meas 
ure  drew  his  mind  away  from  the  memory  of  his 
cruel  and  unfilial  words. 

Sill  approached  her  with  thoughtful  glance. 
"Are  you  related  to  this  woman?" 

"No,  I  am  only  a  friend,"  replied  Mrs.  Joyce; 
"but  this  is  her  son." 

"When  did  you  discover  your  mother's  pres 
ent  condition?" 

"This  morning." 

"Did  you  fold  her  hands  and  put  her  in  the 
position  she  occupies?" 

"No,  that  is  the  strange  thing.  When  I  left 
her  last  night  she  was — she  was  lying  across  the 
bed,  face  downward.  I  had  just  told  her  that 
I  was  going  away  and  that  I  wanted  her  to  go 
with  me.  She  refused  to  do  this  and  tried  to 
get  The  Voices  to  speak  to  her.  They  would  not 
come,  and  so  she,  being  hurt,  I  suppose,  by  what 
I  said,  ran  into  the  room  and  flung  herself  down 
on  the  bed,  weeping.  I  was  angry  at  her  and 
did  not  speak  to  her  again.  I  went  to  sleep  out 
here  on  the  couch,  and  did  not  see  her  again  till 
morning.  When  I  looked  in  at  eight  o'clock  she 
was  lying  just  as  she  is  now." 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Sill  eyed  him  keenly.  "Do  you  mean  that 
you  quarreled?" 

Mrs.  Joyce  interposed.  "I  can  explain  that," 
she  said.  "Mrs.  Ollnee  was  my  friend.  She  was 
what  is  called  a  medium.  She  is  the  Mrs.  Ollnee 
you  may  have  read  about  in  the  papers." 

"Ah!"  Sill's  tone  conveyed  a  mingling  of 
surprise  and  increased  interest.  ' '  So  you  are  the 
son  of  Mrs.  Ollnee?"  he  said,  turning  to  Victor. 

Mrs.  Joyce  again  answered  for  him.  "Yes; 
he  has  been  away  at  school;  he  came  home  Sun 
day  to  comfort  and  protect  his  mother;  but, 
unfortunately,  he  does  not  accept  her  faith.  He 
rebelled  against  her  work,  and  demanded  that 
she  give  up  her  Voices.  I  can  understand  his 
wanting  her  to  go  away  with  him,  and  I  can 
understand  also  how  painful  it  was  to  her;  but 
I  don't  believe  that  what  he  said  had  anything 
to  do  with  her  passing  out.  She  was  very  frail 
at  best,  and  has  many  times  said  that  she  ex 
pected  to  leave  the  body  in  one  of  her  trances 
and  never  again  resume  her  worn-out  garment." 

"She  was  subject  to  trances,  then?" 

"Yes,  though  not  strictly  a  trance-medium,  she 
did  occasionally  pass  out  of  the  body." 

"May  I  take  your  name?" 

"Certainly;  I  am  Mrs.  John  H.  Joyce,  of  Prairie 
Avenue." 

His  manner  changed.  "Oh  yes.  I  should 
have  known  you,  Mrs.  Joyce,  I  have  seen  you 
before.  What  you  tell  me  does  not  explain  the 

104 


CHECKED  IN   HIS  FLIGHT 

disposal  of  Mrs.  Ollnee's  body.  She  must  have 
gone  to  her  death  consciously,  as  if  preparing 
to  sleep.  Perhaps  she  intended  only  to  enter 
a  trance." 

Mrs.  Joyce  started.  "She  may  be  in  trance 
now!  Have  you  thought  of  that,  Doctor?" 

Victor's  heart  bounded  at  the  suggestion.  "Do 
you  think  it  possible?"  he  asked,  excitedly. 

Sill  remained  unmoved.  ' '  She  does  not  respond 
to  any  test,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  Life  is  extinct." 

The  entrance  of  Doctor  Eberly,  a  tall,  stoop 
ing  man  with  deep-set  eyes  and  a  sad,  worn  face, 
cut  short  this  explanation.  Eberly  was  Mrs. 
Joyce's  family  physician,  and  taking  him  aside 
she  presented  the  case. 

Eberly  knew  Doctor  Sill,  and  together  they 
returned  to  Mrs.  Ollnee's  bedside  while  Mrs. 
Joyce  kept  Victor  as  far  away  from  their  examina 
tion  as  possible. 

"There  have  been  many  cases  of  this  deep 
trance,  Victor,  and  we  must  not  permit  the  coro 
ner  to  come  till  we  are  absolutely  convinced  that 
your  mother  has  gone  out  never  to  return." 

"She  must  come  back,"  he  cried,  huskily. 
"She  did  so  much  for  me.  I  want  to  do  some 
thing  for  her." 

' '  You  did  a  great  deal  for  her,  my  dear  boy. 
It  was  a  great  joy  and  comfort  to  her  to  see 
you  growing  into  manhood.  She  was  a  little 
afraid  of  you,  but  she  worshiped  you  all  the 
same.  Your  letters  were  an  ecstasy  to  her." 

105 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"And  I  wrote  so  seldom,"  he  groaned.  "I 
was  so  busy  with  my  games,  my  studies,  I  hardly 
thought  of  her.  If  she  will  only  come  back  to 
me  I  will  give  up  everything  for  her." 

' '  She  understood  you,  Victor.  She  was  a  won 
derful  little  woman,  lovely  in  her  serene,  high 
thought.  She  lived  on  a  lofty  plane." 

"I  begin  to  see  that,"  he  answered,  contritely. 
"I  understand  her  better  now." 

The  kindly  Mrs.  Bowers  had  slipped  away 
back  to  her  household  below,  and  the  men  of 
science  were  still  deep  in  a  low-toned,  deliberate 
discussion,  so  that  Victor  and  the  woman  he  now 
knew  to  be  his  best  friend  were  left  to  confront 
each  other  in  mutual  study.  He  was  wondering 
at  her  interest  in  him,  and  she  was  weighing  his 
grief  and  remorse,  thinking  enviously  of  his 
youth  and  bodily  perfection.  "I  wish  you  were 
my  son,"  she  uttered,  wistfully. 

Doctor  Eberly  again  approached,  walking  in 
that  quaint,  sidewise  fashion  which  had  made 
him  the  subject  of  jocose  remark  among  his 
pupils  at  the  medical  school. 

Mrs.  Joyce  was  instant  in  inquiry.  "How  is 
she,  Doctor?" 

"Life  is  extinct,"  he  replied,  with  fateful 
precision. 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  demanded. 

"Reasonably  so.  One  is  never  sure  of  any 
thing  that  concerns  the  human  organism,"  he 
replied,  wearily. 

106 


CHECKED   IN   HIS  FLIGHT 

She  warned  him:  "You  must  remember  she 
was  accustomed  to  these  trances." 

"So  I  understand.  Nevertheless,  this  is  some 
thing  more  than  trance.  So  far  as  I  can  deter 
mine,  this  body  is  without  a  tenant." 

"The  tenant  may  come  back,"  she  insisted. 

He  looked  away.  "I  know  your  faith,  but  I 
am  quite  sure  all  is  over.  Rigor  mortis  has 
set  in." 

She  rose  emphatically.  ' '  I  have  a  feeling  that 
you  are  both  mistaken.  Let  me  see  her.  Come, 
Victor,  why  do  you  shrink?  It  is  but  her  gar 
ment  lying  there." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  bedside  and  laid  her 
warm,  plump  hands  on  the  pale,  thin  cold,  and 
rigid  fingers  of  her  friend.  She  stooped  and 
peered  into  the  sightless  visage.  "Lucy,  are  you 
present?  Can  you  see  me?" 

Doctor  Sill  then  said:  "The  eyes  alone  puzzle 
me.  The  pupils  are  not  precisely — ' 

"If  there  is  the  slightest  doubt — "  Mrs.  Joyce 
began. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  convey  that,  Mrs. 
Joyce.  I  was  merely  giving  you  the  exact 
point — " 

1 ' She  shall  lie  precisely  as  she  is  till  to-morrow," 
announced  Mrs.  Joyce,  firmly.  "I  have  an  'im 
pression'  that  she  wishes  to  have  it  so.  Will 
you  permit  this?"  She  confronted  the  two 
physicians.  "Will  you  wait  till  to-morrow  be 
fore  reporting?" 

107 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Doctor  Eberly  considered  a  moment.  "If  you 
insist,  Mrs.  Joyce,  and  if  it  is  Mr.  Ollnee's  wish— 

"Yes,  yes,"  Victor  cried,  "  I've  heard  of  people 
being  buried  alive.  It  is  too  horrible  to  think 
about!  Leave  us  alone  till  to-morrow." 

The  physicians  conferred  apart,  and  at  last 
Eberly  turned  to  say :  "It  seems  to  us  a  perfectly 
harmless  concession.  We  will  not  report  the 
case  till  to-morrow.  Doctor  Sill  will  call  in  the 
morning  and  decide  what  further  course  to  take." 

"Thank  you,"  repeated  Mrs.  Joyce. 

After  the  doctors  had  gone  she  turned  to 
Victor,  saying:  "There  is  nothing  for  us  to  do 
now  but  to  wait.  If  Lucy  has  gone  out  of  her 
body  forever  she  will  manifest  to  us  here  in  some 
familiar  way.  If  she  intends  to  return  she  will 
revive  the  body  and  speak  from  it  sometime 
between  now  and  dawn." 

"She  seems  to  sleep,"  he  said;  and  now  that 
his  awe  and  terror  were  lessened  by  his  hope,  he 
was  able  to  study  her  face  more  exactly.  ' '  How 
peaceful  she  seems — and  how  little  she  is!" 

"A  great  soul  in  a  dainty  envelope,"  Mrs. 
Joyce  replied.  "Would  you  mind  taking  my 
car  and  going  to  my  home  to  tell  Leonora  where 
I  am?  I  wish  also  you  would  bring  Mrs.  Post, 
my  seamstress,  back  with  you.  She's  a  good, 
strong,  kindly  soul  and  will  be  most  helpful 
to-day." 

He  consented  readily  and  went  away  in  the 
car,  with  the  bright  spring  sunlight  flooding  the 

1 08 


CHECKED   IN    HIS   FLIGHT 

world,  feeling  himself  snared  in  an  invisible  net. 
All  thought  of  leaving  the  city  passed  out  of  his 
mind.  He  thought  only  of  his  mother  and  of 
her  possible  revivification.  "I  will  fight  the 
world  here  if  only  she  will  return,"  he  said. 

It  seemed  years  since  the  ball  game  of  Satur 
day  wherein  he  had  taken  such  joyous  and 
honorable  part.  At  that  time  his  universe  held 
no  sorrow,  no  care,  no  uncertainty.  Now  here 
he  sat,  plunged  deep  in  mystery  and  confusion, 
face  to  face  with  death,  penniless,  beleaguered, 
and  alone. 

"What  would  I  do  without  Mrs.  Joyce?"  he 
asked  himself.  "She  is  a  wonderful  woman." 
Strange  that  in  a  single  hour  he  should  come  to 
lean  upon  her  as  upon  an  elder  sister. 

He  suddenly  remembered  that  she  had  prob 
ably  come  away  from  home  without  her  break 
fast,  and  that  she  would  find  not  so  much  as  a 
crust  of  bread  in  his  mother's  kitchen,  and  the 
thought  made  him  flush  with  shame.  "What  a 
selfish  fool  I  am,"  he  said,  and  seized  the  speak 
ing-tube  with  intent  to  order  the  chauffeur  to 
turn,  but,  reflecting  that  it  would  take  only  a 
few  minutes  longer  to  go  on,  he  dropped  the 
mouth-piece  and  the  machine  whirled  steadily 
forward. 

As  he  ran  up  the  wide  steps  Leonora  opened 
the  door  for  him,  looking  very  alert  and  capable, 
her  face  full  of  wonder  and  question.  "How  is 
your  mother?"  she  quickly,  tenderly,  asked. 

109 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

He  choked  in  his  reply.  "The  doctors  say  she 
is — dead,  but  your  aunt  insists  that  it  is  only  a 
trance."  He  turned  away  to  hide  his  tears.  ' '  I 
am  hoping  she's  right,  but  I'm  afraid  that  the 
doctors — " 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?"  she  asked,  her 
voice  tremulous  with  sympathy. 

"Yes,  if  you  will  please  send  Mrs.  Post,  the 
seamstress,  over  with  me.  We  have  no  one  in 
the  house,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  needs  help." 

"I  will  go,  too,"  she  responded,  quickly. 
"Please  be  seated  while  I  call  Mrs.  Post.  Have 
you  had  breakfast?" 

"Yes;  but  Mrs.  Joyce  has  not,  and  I'm  afraid 
there  isn't  a  thing  in  our  house  to  eat." 

"I'll  take  something  over,"  she  replied,  and 
hastened  away. 

He  did  not  sit,  he  could  not  even  compose 
himself  to  stand,  but  walked  up  and  down  the 
hall  like  a  leopard  in  its  cage.  Now  and  again 
a  liveried  servant  passed,  glancing  at  him  curi 
ously,  but  he  did  not  mind.  Mingled  with  other 
whirling  emotions  was  a  feeling  of  gratitude 
toward  Leonora,  whose  air  of  conscious  supe 
riority  had  given  place,  for  the  moment,  to 
exquisite  gentleness  and  pity.  She  soon  had 
the  seamstress  and  some  lunch  bestowed 
in  the  car.  "We  are  ready,  Mr.  Ollnee,"  she 
called. 

She  said  very  little  during  their  ride.  Occa 
sionally  she  made  some  remark  of  general  sig- 

IIO 


CHECKED   IN   HIS  FLIGHT 

nificance,  or  spoke  to  Mrs.  Post  upon  the  duties 
which  she  might  expect  to  meet,  and  for  this 
reserve  Victor  was  grateful.  She  understood 
him  through  all  his  worry.  Though  he  did  not 
directly  study  her,  he  was  acutely  conscious  of 
her  every  movement.  Her  unruffled  precision 
of  action,  her  calmness,  her  consideration  for  his 
grief  appealed  to  him  as  something  very  womanly 
and  sweet. 

His  mother's  neighbors  had  been  aroused  to 
a  staring  heat  of  interest,  and  from  almost  every 
window  curious  faces  peered.  Victor  perceived 
and  resented  their  scrutiny,  but  Leonora  seemed 
not  to  mind.  She  alighted  calmly  and  carried 
the  basket  of  lunch  in  her  own  hands  to  the  stair 
way,  though  she  permitted  Victor  to  lead  the 
way. 

Mrs.  Joyce  met  them  with  a  grave  smile.  * '  You 
are  prompt.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Leo,  and  you, 
too,  Mrs.  Post.  We  have  a  long  watch  before  us." 

It  was  a  singular  and  absorbing  vigil  to  which 
Victor  and  the  three  women  now  set  themselves. 
While  Greek  and  Italian  hucksters  lamentably 
howled  through  the  alleys  and  the  milk-wagons 
and  grocers*  carts  clattered  up  the  streets,  they 
waited  upon  the  invisible  and  listened  for  the 
inaudible — so  thin  is  the  line  between  the  prosaic 
and  the  mystic! 

Each  minute  snap  or  crackle  in  the  woodwork 
was  to  Mrs.  Joyce  a  sign  that  the  translated 

in 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

spirit  was  struggling  to  manifest  itself;  but  the 
seamstress,  stolid  with  years  of  toil  and  trouble, 
sat  beside  the  bed  with  calm  gaze  fixed  upon  the 
small,  clear-cut  face  half  hid  in  the  pillows,  as  if 
it  mattered  very  little  to  her  whether  she  watched 
with  the  dead  or  sewed  robes  of  velvet  for  the 
living.  "It's  all  in  the  day's  work,"  she  was 
accustomed  to  say. 

Leo,  with  intent  to  comfort  Victor,  told  of 
several  notable  cases  of  "suspension  of  anima 
tion"  with  which  the  literature  of  the  Orient  is 
filled,  and  Victor  took  this  to  be,  as  she  intended 
it  to  be,  an  attempt  to  comfort  and  sustain. 

At  times  it  seemed  that  he  must  be  dreaming, 
so  unreal  was  the  scene  and  so  extraordinary 
was  the  composure  of  these  women.  They  had 
the  air  of  those  who  await  in  infinite  calm  leisure 
the  certain  return  of  a  friend.  Now  and  again 
Mrs.  Joyce  rose  and  looked  down  upon  the 
motionless  form,  and  then  perceiving  no  change 
resumed  her  seat.  From  time  to  time  intruders 
mounted  the  stairs,  knocked,  and,  getting  no 
reply,  tramped  noisily  down  again. 

Victor  was  all  for  throwing  things  in  their 
faces,  but  Mrs.  Joyce  interposed.  When  he 
looked  from  the  windows  he  saw  grinning  faces 
turned  upward,  and  waiting  cameras  could  be 
seen  on  the  walk  opposite,  ready  to  snap  every 
living  thing  that  entered — or  came  from — the 
house.  In  truth,  Victor  and  his  friends  were 
enduring  a  state  of  siege. 

112 


CHECKED   IN   HIS   FLIGHT 

At  last  Mrs.  Joyce  said:  "Nothing  is  gained 
by  your  staying  here,  Victor.  Why  don't  you 
go  for  a  ride  in  the  park  ?  Leo,  take  him  down 
to  the  South  Side  Club." 

Victor  protested.  ' '  I  cannot  go  for  a  pleasure 
trip  at  such  a  time  as  this.  It  is  impossible!" 

She  met  him  squarely.  "Victor,  death  to  me 
is  merely  a  passing  from  one  plane  to  another. 
Besides,  I  don't  think  your  mother  has  altogether 
left  us.  But  if  she  has,  you  can  do  no  good  by 
remaining  here.  Mrs.  Post  and  I  are  quite  suffi 
cient.  It  is  a  glorious  spring  day.  I  beg  you 
to  go  out  and  take  the  air.  It  will  do  you  infinite 
good." 

"If  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  here  then  I 
ought  to  resume  my  search  for  work,"  he  replied, 
sturdily.  "Now  that  I  cannot  take  my  mother 
away  with  me,  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but 
to  find  employment  here  and  face  our  enemies 
as  best  I  can." 

She  opposed  him  there  also.  "Don't  do  that 
— not  now.  Wait.  I  have  a  plan.  I'll  not  go 
into  it  now,  but  when  you  come  back,  if  there 
is  no  change,  we  will  all  go  home  and  I  will 
explain." 

The  young  people  had  risen  and  were  starting 
toward  the  door  when  an  imperative,  long 
drawn-out  rapping  startled  them. 

"That's  no  reporter's  rap.  There  is  authority 
in  that,"  remarked  Mrs.  Joyce,  as  she  hurried 
to  the  door. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

A  very  tall  man  with  a  long  gray  beard  stood 
there.  "Good-day,  madam,"  he  began,  in  a 
husky  voice.  "I  hear  that  my  friend,  Mrs. 
Ollnee,  is  sick,  and  I've  come  to  see  about  it. 
I'm  her  friend  these  many  years  and  of  her 
faith,  and  I  think  I  can  be  of  some  assistance." 

Mrs.  Joyce  dimly  remembered  having  seen  him 
in  the  house  before,  so  she  replied,  very  civilly, 
"Mrs.  Ollnee  lies  in  what  seems  to  be  deep  trance, 
although  the  doctors  say  that  life  is  extinct." 

"Will  you  let  me  see  her?"  he  inquired.  "I 
know  a  great  deal  about  these  conditions.  My 
daughter  was  subject  to  them." 

"You  may  come  in,"  she  said,  for  his  manner 
was  gentle.  "This  is  her  son,  Victor." 

Victor  was  vexed  by  the  stranger's  intrusion, 
but  could  not  gainsay  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"My  name  is  Beebe,  Doctor  Beebe,"  he  ex 
plained.  "Mrs.  Ollnee  has  given  me  many  a 
consoling  message,  and  I  believe  I've  been  of 
help  to  her.  You're  her  son,  eh?" 

"I  am,"  replied  Victor,  shortly. 

' '  You  were  the  vein  of  her  heart,"  the  old  man 
solemnly  assured  him.  "Her  guides  were  for 
ever  talking  of  you.  And  now  may  I  see  her?" 

Mrs.  Joyce,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  led 
him  to  the  door  of  the  room  and  stood  aside  for 
him  to  enter.  After  looking  down  into  the  si 
lent  face  for  a  long  time  he  asked,  in  stately 
fashion,  "May  I  make  momentary  examination 
of  the  body?" 

114 


CHECKED   IN   HIS   FLIGHT 

Mrs.  Joyce  glanced  at  Victor.  "I  see  no  ob 
jection  to  your  feeling  for  her  pulse  or  listening 
for  her  breath." 

"I  wish  to  lift  her  eyelids,"  he  explained. 

"  You  must  not  touch  her!"  Victor  broke  forth. 
' '  Two  doctors  have  examined  her  already.  Why 
should  you?" 

''Because  I,  too,  am  one  of  the  mystic  order. 
I  am  a  healer.  Life's  mysteries  are  as  an  open 
book  to  me." 

As  he  spoke  a  folded  paper  appeared  to  develop 
out  of  thin  air  above  the  bed,  and  fell  gently 
upon  the  coverlet. 

Mrs.  Joyce  started.  "Where  did  that  come 
from?" 

The  healer  smiled.  "From  the  fourth  di 
mension."  Calmly  taking  up  the  folded  paper, 
he  opened  it.  "This  is  a  message  to  you, 
young  man." 

"To  me  ?"  Victor  exclaimed.     "From  whom  ?" 

"It  is  signed  'Nelson.'" 

"Let  me  see  it?"  demanded  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"What  does  it  say?"  asked  Victor. 

Mrs.  Joyce  handed  it  to  him.  "Read  it  for 
yourself.  It  is  from  your  grandfather." 

He  read:  "Your  mother  is  with  us,  but  she 
will  return  to  you  for  a  little  while.  Her  work  is 
not  yet  ended.  Your  stubborn  neck  must  bow. 
There  is  a  great  mission  for  you,  but  you  must 
acquire  wisdom.  Learn  that  your  plans  are  noth 
ing,  your  strength  puny,  your  pride  pitiful.  We 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

love  you,  but  we  must  chastise  you.  Do  not  attempt 
to  leave  the  city.  NELSON." 

As  he  stood  reading  this  letter  it  seemed  to 
Victor  that  a  cold  wind  blew  upon  him  from  the 
direction  of  his  mother's  body,  and  his  blood 
chilled.  "This  is  some  of  your  jugglery,"  he 
said,  turning  angrily  upon  Beebe. 

"I  assure  you,  no,"  replied  the  healer,  quietly. 
"It  came  from  behind  the  veil.  It  is  a  veritable 
message  from  the  shadow  world.  I  may  have 
had  something  to  do  with  its  precipitation,  for 
I,  too,  am  psychic,  but  not  in  any  material  way 
did  I  aid  the  guide." 

The  whole  affair  seemed  to  Victor  a  piece  of 
chicanery  on  the  part  of  this  intruder,  and  he 
bluntly  said:  "I  wish  you'd  go.  You  can  do 
no  good  here.  You  have  no  business  here." 

Beebe  seemed  not  to  take  offense.  "It's 
natural  in  you  young  fellows  to  believe  only  in 
the  world  of  business  and  pleasure,  but  you'll 
be  taught  the  pettiness  and  uselessness  of  all 
that.  Your  guides  have  a  work  for  you  to  do, 
and  the  sooner  you  surrender  to  their  will  the 
better.  You  are  fighting  an  invisible  but  over 
whelming  power. ' ' 

He  addressed  Mrs.  Joyce.  "This  message  is 
conclusive.  Mrs.  Ollnee,  our  divine  instrument, 
has  not  abandoned  the  body.  Her  spirit  will 
return  to  its  envelope  soon."  He  turned  back 
to  Victor.  "As  for  you,  young  sir,  there  is  war 
fare  and  much  sorrow  before  you.  Good-day." 

116 


CHECKED   IN   HIS  FLIGHT 

And  with  lofty  wafture  of  the  hand  he  took  him 
self  from  the  room. 

Not  till  he  had  passed  entirely  out  of  hearing 
did  Victor  speak,  then  he  burst  forth.  "The  old 
fraud!  I  wonder  how  many  more  such  visitors 
we  are  to  have?  I  wish  we  could  take  her 
away  from  this  place." 

"We  might  take  her  to  my  house,"  said  Mrs. 
Joyce,  "but  I  would  not  dare  to  do  so  without 
the  consent  of  the  doctors." 

"Did  you  see  how  that  man  produced  that 
message?" 

Leo  replied,   "It  developed  right  out  of  the 


air." 


"It  was  a  direct  materialization,"  confessed 
Mrs.  Joyce.  "My  own  feeling  is  that  your 
grandfather  sent  it  to  assure  us  of  your  mother's 
return." 

Victor  silently  confronted  them,  his  anxiety 
lost  in  wonder.  He  had  been  told  spiritualists 
were  an  uneducated  lot,  and  to  have  these  cul 
tured  and  intelligent  women  calmly  express  their 
acceptance  of  a  fact  so  destructive  of  all  the 
laws  of  matter  as  this  folded  note,  blinded  him. 
He  shifted  the  conversation.  "Isn't  it  horrible 
that  I  should  be  here  without  a  dollar  and  with 
out  a  single  relative?  I  don't  even  know  that 
I  have  a  relation  in  the  world.  My  mother  told 
me  that  she  had  a  brother  somewhere  in  the 
West,  but  I  don't  think  she  ever  gave  me  his 
address.  There  must  be  aunts  or  uncles  some- 

9  "7 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

where  in  the  East,  but  I  have  never  heard  from 
them.  It  seems  as  though  she  had  kept  me  pur 
posely  ignorant  of  her  family.  You've  been  very 
good  and  kind  to  me,  Mrs.  Joyce,  but  I  can't  ask 
anything  more  of  you.  I  can't  ask  you  to  stay 
here  in  this  gloomy  little  hole.  Please  go  home. 
I'll  fight  it  out  here  some  way  alone." 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Joyce,  "I  insist  on 
staying.  I  cannot  leave  Lucy  in  her  present 
condition,  and  I  refuse  to  leave  you  alone.  She 
is  coming  back  to  you  soon,  and  then  we  will 
plan  for  the  future.  As  for  the  message,  you 
will  do  well  to  take  its  word  to  heart.  It  is 
plainly  a  warning  that  you  must  not  leave  the 
city." 

"But,  Mrs.  Joyce,  think  what  it  involves  to 
believe  that  that  letter  dropped  out  of  the  air!" 

"The  world  has  grown  very  vast  and  very 
mysterious  to  me,"  she  solemnly  responded. 
"I've  had  even  more  wonderful  things  than  that 
take  place  in  my  own  home." 

Mrs.  Joyce  saw  that  to  go  would  be  best,  at 
least  for  the  time,  and  together  she  and  Leo 
went  down  the  stairway  and  out  into  the  street, 
leaving  the  stubborn  youth  to  confront  his 
problem  alone  with  the  phlegmatic  Mrs.  Post. 


VII 

THE    RETURN    OF   THE    SPIRIT 

YOUTH  is  surrounded  by  mystery — nothing 
but  magic  touches  him;  but  it  is  a  beauti 
ful,  natural,  hopeful  magic.  The  mists  of  morn 
ing  rise  unaccountably,  the  rains  of  autumn  fall 
without  cause.  The  lightning,  the  snows,  the 
grasses  appear  and  vanish  before  the  child's  eyes 
like  magical  conjurations,  until  at  last,  for  the 
most  part,  he  accepts  these  miracles  as  common 
place  because  they  happen  regularly  and  often. 
In  a  world  that  is  incomprehensible  to  the  great 
est  philosopher,  the  lad  of  twenty  comes  and 
goes  unmoved  by  the  essential  irresolvability  of 
matter. 

So  it  had  been  with  Victor.  Under  instruc 
tion  he  had  come  to  speak  of  electricity  as  a 
fluid,  of  steel  as  a  metal,  as  though  calling  them 
by  these  names  explained  them.  He  discussed 
the  ether,  calmly  considering  it  a  sort  of  finely 
attenuated  jelly,  something  which  quivered  to 
every  blow  and  was  capable  of  transmitting 
motion  instantaneously.  Sound,  heat,  and  light 
were  modes  of  motion,  he  had  been  told,  and 

119 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

these  words  satisfied  him.  Food  taken  into  the 
body  produced  power,  and  this  power  was  trans 
mitted  from  the  stomach  to  the  brain,  and 
from  the  brain  to  the  muscles,  and  so  the  limbs 
were  moved.  But  just  how  the  meat  and 
potatoes  got  finally  from  the  brain  to  the  nerves 
and  so  into  the  swing  of  a  baseball  bat  did  not 
trouble  him.  Why  should  it? 

Life  and  age  were  mere  words.  Death  he  had 
heard  described  by  clergymen  as  something  to  be 
prepared  for,  a  dark  and  dismal  event  reserved 
for  old  people,  but  which  did  occasionally  catch 
a  man  in  his  arrogant  youth,  generally  in  the 
midst  of  his  sins.  Life  meant  having  a  good 
time,  a  succeeding  in  sport,  business,  or  love. 
Of  course  certain  philosophic  phrases  like  "con 
tinuous  adjustment  of  the  organism  to  the  en 
vironment"  and  "the  change  of  the  organism 
from  the  simple  to  the  complex"  had  stuck  in 
his  mind.  But  any  real  thought  as  to  what  these 
changes  actually  meant  had  been  put  aside 
quite  properly,  for  the  pastimes  and  ambitions 
of  the  student  to  whom  study  is  an  incidental 
price  for  a  joyous  hour  at  play. 

But  now,  here  in  this  room,  beside  the  motion 
less  body  of  his  mother,  he  began  to  think.  He 
had  a  good  mind.  His  lather  had  left  him  a 
rich  legacy  in  his  splendid  body,  but  also  some 
thing  mental — latent  to  this  hour — which  pro 
duced  an  irritating  impatience  with  the  vague 
and  the  mysterious.  He  resented  the  intrusion 

120 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

of  an  insoluble  element  into  his  thinking.  He 
was  repelled  by  the  discovery  that  his  mother 
was  abnormal,  and  from  the  point  of  view  of 
this  "ghost-room"  his  life  at  the  university  was 
becoming  sweeter,  more  precious,  more  normal 
every  hour. 

Then,  too,  his  afternoon  of  reading  at  the  li 
brary  had  put  into  his  mind  several  new  and 
all-powerful  conceptions  which  had  germinated 
there  like  the  seeds  which  the  Indian  "adept" 
plants  in  pots  of  sand,  rising,  burgeoning,  blos 
soming  on  the  instant.  He  knew  the  names  of 
some  of  those  men  whose  words  might  be 
counted  on  the  side  of  his  mother's  endowment, 
for  they  were  famous  in  physical  or  moral  science, 
but  he  had  not  known  before  that  they  admitted 
any  real  belief  in  the  kind  of  things  which  his 
mother  professed  to  perform. 

The  conception  that  the  human  soul  was 
(as  the  ancients  believed)  a  ponderable,  po 
tent  entity  capable  of  separating  itself  from 
the  body,  came  to  him  with  overwhelming  sig 
nificance.  "If  mother  still  lives,"  he  said  to 
the  nurse,  "where  is  she?  What  form  has  she 
taken?" 

Mrs.  Post,  in  her  own  way,  was  capable  of  ex 
pressing  herself.  "She  is  not  there.  So  much 
we  know.  Her  body  is  here.  It  is  like  a  cloak 
which  she  has  thrown  down.  She  herself  is  in 
visible,  but  she  will  return  and  take  up  her  body, 
and  then  you  will  see  it  grow  warm  again  and 
121 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

her  eyes  will  light  up  like  lamps,  and  she  will  rise 
and  speak  to  you." 

Of  course  he  did  not  believe  this.  That  her 
body  was  a  cast-off  garment  was  easy  to  com 
prehend,  but  that  her  spirit  hovered  near  and 
would  re-enter  its  former  habitation  was  in 
credible. 

All  day  he  remained  there,  pacing  to  and  fro, 
or  sitting  bent  and  somber  over  his  problem.  At 
noon  he  got  a  little  lunch  for  himself  and  for  the 
nurse.  At  two  o'clock  Mrs.  Joyce  returned  to 
take  him  for  a  drive  in  her  car.  But  this  he 
again  refused.  Thereupon  she  went  away,  prom 
ising  to  look  in  again  later  in  the  evening. 

At  dusk  he  stole  down  into  the  street  to  mail 
a  letter  to  Frensen,  wherein  he  had  written:  "I 
am  a  good  deal  of  a  broken  reed  to-day,  but  I 
am  going  to  fight.  I  wish  you  were  here  to  talk 
things  over  with  me.  I'm  surrounded  by  peo 
ple  who  believe  in  the  supernatural,  and  I  need 
some  one  like  yourself  to  brace  me  up." 

This  was  true.  He  had  been  thrust  into  the 
midst  of  those  who  dwelt  upon  the  amazing  and 
the  inexplicable  in  human  life.  The  city,  which 
had  been  to  him  so  vast,  so  ugly,  and  so  menac 
ing  in  a  material  way,  now  became  mysterious  in 
an  entirely  different  way.  He  had  now  a  sense 
of  its  infinite  drama,  its  network  of  purpose. 
There  was  some  comfort,  however,  in  the  thought 
that  amid  these  swarms  of  people  his  own  activi 
ties  were  inconspicuous.  To-morrow  he  and  his 

122 


THE   RETURN  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

mother  would  be  forgotten  in  some  new  sensa 
tion. 

The  air  was  delicately  fresh  and  wholesome, 
and  the  faces  of  the  girls  he  met  had  singular 
power  to  comfort  him.  The  life  of  the  city, 
sweeping  on  multitudinously,  refreshed  him  like 
the  spray  of  a  mighty  torrent  foaming  amid 
rocks  and  shadowed  by  lofty  canon  walls.  He 
returned  to  his  vigil  stronger  and  better  for  this 
momentary  communion  with  the  crowd. 

Mrs.  Joyce  came  again  at  nine  and  insisted  on 
remaining  for  the  night.  She  had  quite  thrown 
off  her  own  gloom,  being  perfectly  certain  in  her 
own  mind  that  Lucy  Ollnee  would  return  with 
a  marvelous  story  of  her  wanderings  "on  the 
other  plane." 

She  began  to  make  plans  for  Victor,  "subject," 
she  said,  "to  revision  by  your  'guides.' ' 

"You've  said  that  before,"  he  retorted,  "but 
I  have  no  ' guides.'  I  don't  believe  in  'guides,' 
and  I  don't  intend  to  be  ruled  by  a  lot  of  spooks." 

"Be  careful,"  she  warned.  "They  know  your 
every  thought  and  they  may  resent  your  attitude." 

"Well,  let  them!  What  do  I  care?  Suppose, 
for  argument's  sake,  that  these  Voices  do  come 
from  my  father  and  my  grandfather.  What  do 
they  know  of  this  great  city  ?  They  were  country 
folks.  How  can  they  direct  me  in  what  I  am 
to  do?" 

"They  know  a  great  deal  better  than  any  of 
us." 

123 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"But  how  can  they?" 

4 '  Because  they  are  free  from  the  limitations  of 
the  flesh." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  is  going  to  help  them. 
Their  minds  are  just  the  same  as  they  were, 
aren't  they?" 

1 '  Indeed  no !  We  grow  inconceivably  in  knowl 
edge  and  power  to  discern  the  moment  we  drop 
the  flesh." 

' '  I  don't  see  why  ?  If  they  are  existing  they're 
in  a  world  so  different  from  this  that  their  ex 
perience  here  won't  help  them  over  there,  and 
their  experience  over  there  is  of  no  value  to  us 
here,  and  even  if  it  were,  they  could  not  express 
it." 

During  their  talk  the  night  had  deepened  into 
darkness,  and  now,  as  they  reached  a  pause  in 
their  discussion,  a  measured  rapping  could  be 
heard,  as  though  some  one  were  striking  •  with  a 
small  wand  upon  the  brass  rod  of  the  bed. 

Without  knowing  exactly  why,  a  thrill  very 
like  fear  passed  over  Victor,  but  Mrs.  Joyce 
smiled.  "They  are  here!  Don't  you  hear 
them?  They  want  to  communicate  with  us." 

The  youth's  high  heart  sank.  His  boyish 
dread  of  darkness  began  to  people  this  death- 
chamber  with  monstrous  shadows,  with  malig 
nant  forces.  He  was  very  grateful  for  the  pres 
ence  of  this  cheery  and  undismayed  believer  in 
the  spirit  world.  Without  her  he  would  have 
been  panic-stricken. 

124 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

She  rose  to  enter  the  bedroom,  and  he  followed 
as  far  as  the  threshold. 

It  was  very  dark  in  there,  and  for  a  moment 
he  could  see  nothing,  could  hear  nothing.  Then 
a  faint  whisper  made  itself  distinctly  audible  just 
above  his  head.  "Victor,  my  boy"  it  said. 

He  did  not  reply  for  a  moment,  and  Mrs. 
Joyce  eagerly  called,  "Did  you  hear  that  whis 
per,  Victor?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  it,"  he  replied. 

"It  was  Lucy.  Was  it  you,  Lucy?"  asked 
Mrs.  Joyce. 

"Yes"  came  the  answer. 

"Are  you  still  out  of  the  body,  Lucy?" 

"Yes." 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

"Wait." 

1 '  Is  there  anything  you  want  to  say  to  Victor  ?" 

"No,  not  now.     Father  will  speak." 

Silence  again  fell,  and  in  this  pause  Mrs.  Joyce 
took  the  chair  which  stood  close  beside  the  bed 
and  motioned  Victor  to  another  near  the  foot. 
He  sat  with  thrilling  nerves,  moved,  trembling  in 
spite  of  himself.  The  room  was  now  quite  dark, 
save  for  a  faint  patch  of  light  on  the  ceiling  and 
another  on  the  carpet.  His  mother's  body  could 
not  be  distinguished  from  the  covering  of  the 
bed. 

As  they  waited,  a  singular,  cold,  and  aromatic 
breeze  began  to  blow  over  the  bed  from  the  dark 
corner,  and  then  a  small,  brilliant,  bluish  flame 

I25 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

arose  near  the  sleeper's  head,  and,  floating  up 
ward  to  the  ceiling,  vanished  silently.  It  was 
like  the  flame  of  a  candle  twisted  and  leaping 
in  a  breeze. 

"The  spirit  light!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Joyce, 
ecstatically.  "Wasn't  it  beautiful?  And  see, 
there  is  a  hand  holding  it!"  she  whispered,  as 
another  flame  arose.  "Can't  you  see  it?" 

"I  see  the  light,  but  no  hand,"  he  replied. 

"I  can  see  more.  I  see  the  dim  form  of  an 
old  man  outlined  on  the  wall.  It  must  be  your 
grandsire,  Nelson  Blodgett.  Am  I  right?"  she 
asked,  apparently  of  the  dark. 

Victor  could  now  perceive  a  thin,  bluish,  wav 
ering  shape,  like  a  cloud  of  cigar  smoke,  and 
from  this  a  whisper  seemed  to  come,  strong  and 
clear.  ' '  Yes,  I  have  come  to  speak  to  my  grand 
son:' 

"Don't  you  see  him  now?"  asked  Mrs.  Joyce. 

"I  see  nothing,"  he  repeated;  and  as  he  spoke 
the  misty  shape  vanished. 

"But  you  heard  the  whisper,  did  you  not?" 
Mrs.  Joyce  persisted. 

He  did  not  reply  to  her,  but  rose  and  bent 
above  his  mother.  "Mother,  did  you  speak?" 
he  asked. 

Mrs.  Joyce  excitedly  restrained  him.  "Sit 
down!  You  must  not  touch  her  now." 

"Why  not?" 

' '  Because  it  is  very  dangerous  while  the  spirits 
are  using  her  organism." 

126 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean?"  he  retorted, 
angrily.  "I  know  that  that  voice  sounded 
exactly  like  my  mother's  voice,  and  I  want  to 
know—" 

"Silence,  foolish  boy!"  was  sternly  breathed 
into  his  ear. 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  sky,  and  as  the  room 
became  perfectly  black  a  fluttering  gray-blue 
cloud  developed  out  of  the  darkest  corner.  It 
had  the  movement  of  steam- wreaths,  with  each 
convolution  faintly  edged  with  light.  At  one  mo 
ment  it  resembled  a  handful  of  lines,  fine  as  cob 
web,  looping  and  waving,  as  if  blown  upward 
from  below,  and  the  next  moment  it  floated  past 
like  the  folds  of  some  exquisite  drapery,  lifting 
and  falling  in  gentle  undulations.  At  last  it  rose 
to  the  height  of  a  man,  drifted  across  the  bed, 
and  there  hung  poised  over  the  head  of  the 
sleeper.  As  it  swung  there  for  an  instant  Victor 
could  plainly  detect  a  man's  figure  and  face. 
His  eyelids  were  closed  and  his  features  vague, 
but  his  chin  and  the  spread  of  his  shoulders  were 
clearly  defined.  "Who  are  you?"  Victor  de 
manded,  as  if  the  apparition  were  an  intruder. 

The  answer  came  in  a  flat,  toneless  voice, 
neither  male  nor  female  in  quality.  "/  am  your 
father." 

Victor  leaped  up  impulsively,  his  hair  on  end 
with  fright,  and  the  apparition  vanished  pre 
cisely  as  though  an  open  door  had  been  closed 
between  it  and  the  observer. 

127 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Again  Mrs.  Joyce  clutched  him.  "Be  care 
ful!  Sit  down;  don't  stir!" 

"Somebody  is  playing  a  joke  on  me,"  he  in 
sisted,  hotly.  "I'm  going  to  strike  a  light." 

Again  a  voice,  this  time  almost  full-toned,  but 
with  a  metallic  accompaniment,  as  though  it 
had  passed  through  a  horn,  poured  into  his  ear, 
"You  shall  bow  to  our  wisdom." 

He  braced  himself  to  receive  a  blow,  and 
answered  through  his  set  teeth:  "I  will  not.  I 
am  master  of  myself,  and  I  don't  intend  to  take 
orders  from  you." 

"You  are  fighting  great  powers.  You  will 
fail,"  the  voice  replied.  "Your  heart  is  defiant. 
Expect  punishment" 

Victor  threw  out  his  left  hand  in  rage.  It 
came  into  contact  with  something  in  the  air, 
something  light  and  hollow,  which  fell  crashing 
to  the  floor,  and  a  faint,  gasping,  indrawn  breath 
from  the  sleeper  on  the  bed  followed  it.  For  an 
instant  all  was  silent ;  then  Mrs.  Joyce  cried  out  : 

"She  has  returned!  Your  mother  has  re 
turned!  Don't  strike  a  light.  Wait  a  moment." 
She  moved  forward  a  little.  ' '  May  I  touch  her  ?' ' 
she  asked. 

Victor  thought  she  was  speaking  to  him,  but 
before  he  could  reply  the  invisible  one  whis 
pered :  "Yes.  Approach  slowly" 

Mrs.  Joyce  laid  her  hand  on  the  sleeper's  brow. 
"She's  warmer,  Victor!  She's  breathing!  She 
has  certainly  come  back  to  us." 

128 


THE   RETURN  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

"Approach,"  whispered  the  voice  in  Victor's 
ear. 

He  moved  forward  now,  in  awe  and  wonder, 
and  stood  beside  the  bed.  Slowly  the  room 
lightened,  and  out  of  the  darkness  the  pallid 
face  of  his  mother  developed  like  the  shadowy 
figures  on  a  photographic  plate.  She  was  lying 
just  as  before,  save  for  one  hand,  which  Mrs. 
Joyce  had  taken.  He  laid  his  own  vital,  mag 
netic  palm  upon  her  arm,  and  finding  it  still 
cold  and  pulseless,  called  out: 

"Mother,  do  you  hear  me?     It  is  Victor." 

Her  fingers  moved  slightly  in  response,  and 
this  minute  sign  of  life  melted  his  heart.  He  fell 
upon  his  knees  beside  her  bed,  weeping  with  grat 
itude  and  joy. 


VIII 

VICTOR   REPAIRS    HIS   MOTHER^   ALTAR 

IN  consenting  to  the  removal  of  his  mother  to 
Mrs.  Joyce's  home  Victor  had  no  intention  of 
receding  from  his  position.  On  the  contrary, 
he  considered  it  merely  a  temporary  measure— 
for  the  night,  or  at  most  for  a  few  days.  He  en 
tered  the  car,  thinking  only  of  her  wishes,  and 
when  he  watched  her  sink  to  sleep  in  her  spacious 
and  luxurious  bed  under  Mrs.  Joyce's  generous 
roof  he  couldn't  but  feel  relieved  at  the  thought 
that  she  was  safe  and  on  the  way  back  to  health. 
It  was  only  when  he  left  her  and  went  to  his 
own  splendid  chamber  that  his  nervousness 
returned. 

Every  day,  every  hour  plunged  him  deeper 
into  debt  to  these  strangers;  and  the  fact  that 
they  were  treating  him  like  a  young  duke  was 
all  the  more  disturbing.  He  fancied  Carew  say 
ing  of  him,  as  he  had  said  of  another,  "Oh,  he's 
merely  one  of  Mrs.  Joyce's  pensioners,"  and  the 
thought  caused  him  to  burn  with  impatience. 

Nevertheless  he  slept,  and  in  the  morning  he 
forgot  his  perplexities  in  the  joy  of  taking  his 

13° 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

breakfast  with  Leonora.  He  admired  her  now 
so  intensely  that  his  own  weakness,  irresolution, 
and  inactivity  seemed  supine.  He  was  impatient 
to  be  doing  something.  His  hands  and  his  brain 
seemed  empty.  With  no  games,  no  tasks,  he 
was  disordered,  lost. 

They  were  alone  at  the  table,  these  young 
people,  and  naturally  fell  to  discussing  Mrs. 
Ollnee's  marvelous  return  to  life.  This  led  him 
to  speak  of  his  own  plans.  "My  course  at 
Winona  fitted  me  for  nothing,"  he  acknowledged, 
bitterly.  "I  should  have  gone  in  for  something 
like  mechanical  engineering,  but  I  didn't.  I  had 
some  fool  notion  of  being  a  lawyer,  and  mother, 
I  can  see  now,  was  all  for  having  me  a  preacher 
of  her  faith.  So  here  I  am,  helpless  as  a  blind 
kitten." 

It  was  proof  of  his  essential  charm  that 
Leonora  not  only  endured  his  renewed  harping 
on  this  harsh  string,  but  encouraged  him  to  con 
tinue.  "I  know  you  chafe,"  she  said.  "I  had 
that  feeling  till  I  began  my  course  in  cooking, 
and  just  to  assure  myself  that  I  am  not  entirely 
useless  and  helpless  in  the  world,  I'm  now  going 
in  for  a  training  as  a  nurse." 

"A  nurse!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh,  that  explains 
something." 

"What  does  it  explain?" 

"I  wondered  how  you  could  be  so  calm  and 
so  efficient  yesterday." 

She  seemed  pleased.     "Was  I  calm  and  effi- 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

cient  ?  Well,  that's  one  result  of  my  study.  I 
can  at  least  keep  my  head  when  anything  goes 
wrong." 

"I  don't  think  I  like  your  being  a  trained 
nurse,"  he  said. 

She  smiled.     "Don't  you?     Why  not?" 

"You're  too  fine  for  that,"  he  answered,  slowly. 
"You  were  made  to  command,  not  to  serve. 
You  should  be  the  queen  of  some  castle." 

His  frankly  expressed  admiration  did  not  em 
barrass  her.  She  accepted  his  words  as  if  they 
came  from  a  boy.  * '  Castles  are  said  to  be  draughty 
and  dreadfully  hard  to  keep  in  order,  and  besides, 
a  queen's  retainers  are  always  getting  sick,  or 
killed,  or  something,  so  I  think  I'll  keep  on  with 
my  training  as  a  nurse." 

"But  there  must  be  a  whole  lot  of  unpleasant, 
nasty  drudgery  about  it." 

"Sickness  isn't  nice,  I'll  admit,  but  there  is 
no  place  in  the  world  where  care  and  sympathy 
mean  so  much." 

"You  don't  intend  to  go  out  and  nurse  among 
strangers?" 

"I  may." 

"I  bet  you  don't — not  for  long.  Some  fellow 
will  come  along  and  say  'No  more  of  that,'  and 
then  you'll  stay  home." 

"What  sort  of  fiction  do  you  read?"  she  asked, 
with  the  air  of  an  older  sister. 

"The  truthful  sort.  Your  nursing  is  nothing 
but  a  fad." 

132 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

"What  a  wise  old  gray-beard  you  are!" 

He  was  nettled.  "You  need  not  take  that 
superior  tone  with  me.  I'm  two  years  older 
than  you  are." 

"And  ten  years  wiser,  I  suppose  you  would 
declare  if  you  dared." 

"I  didn't  say  that." 

"No;  your  tone  was  enough.  I  admit  you 
know  a  great  deal  more  about  baseball  than  I 
do." 

He  winced.  "That  was  a  side-winder,  all 
right.  If  I  knew  as  much  about  the  carpenter's 
trade  or  the  sale  of  dry  goods  as  I  do  about  'the 
national  game '  I'd  stand  a  chance  of  earning 
my  board." 

"Why  not  join  the  league?"  she  suggested. 
"They  pay  good  wages,  I  believe." 

He  took  this  seriously.  "I  thought  of  that, 
but  even  if  I  could  get  into  a  league  team,  which 
is  hardly  probable,  it  wouldn't  lead  anywhere. 
You  see,  I'm  getting  up  an  ambition.  I  want 
to  be  rich  and  powerful." 

"Football  players  have  always  been  my  adora 
tion,"  she  responded,  heartily.  "You'd  look 
splendid  in  harness.  Why  don't  you  go  in  for 
that?" 

"You  may  laugh  at  me  now,"  he  replied, 
bluntly.  "But  give  me  ten  years — " 

"Mercy,  I'll  be  too  old  to  admire  even  a  foot 
ball  captain  by  that  time." 

"You'll  be  only  thirty-one." 
10  i33 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

She  sobered  a  little.  "Men  have  the  advan 
tage.  You  will  be  young  at  thirty-three,  and 
I'll  be — well,  a  matron.  No,  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
wait  that  long.  I  must  find  my  admirable  short 
stop  or  half-back,  whichever  he  is  to  be,  long 
before  that." 

He  changed  his  tone  and  appealed  to  her  seri 
ously.  ' '  Really  now,  what  can  I  do  ?  So  long  as 
this  persecution  of  my  mother  keeps  up  I'm  in 
for  a  share  of  it.  I  can't  run  away,  for  I  promised 
I  wouldn't.  So  I  remain,  like  a  turkey  with  a 
string  to  his  leg,  walking  round  and  round  my 
little  stake.  What  would  you  do  in  my  place? 
Come  now,  be  good  and  tell  me." 

She  responded  to  his  appeal.  "  Don't  be  im 
patient.  That's  the  first  thing.  Be  resigned  to 
this  luxury  for  a  few  days.  The  Voices  will  tell 
you  what  to  do.  They  may  be  planning  a  sur 
prise  for  you." 

"All  I  ask  of  them  is  to  quit  the  job  and  let 
me  plan  things  for  myself,"  he  slowly  protested. 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Wood,  senior,  ended  their 
dialogue,  and  he  went  away  with  a  sense  of 
having  failed  to  win  Leo's  respect  and  confidence, 
as  he  had  hoped  to  do.  "She  considers  me  a 
kid,"  he  muttered,  discontentedly.  "But  she 
will  change  her  mind  one  of  these  days." 

He  spent  the  morning  with  his  mother,  but 
toward  noon  he  grew  restless  and  went  down 
into  the  library,  wherein  he  had  observed  several 
bound  volumes  of  the  report  of  The  Psychical 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

Society.  He  fell  to  reading  a  long  article  upon 
"multiple  personality,"  and  followed  this  by  the 
close  study  of  an  essay  on  hysteria,  and  when 
Mrs.  Joyce  called  him  to  lunch  he  was  like  a 
man  awakened  from  deep  sleep.  These  articles, 
filled  with  new  and  bewildering  conceptions  of 
the  human  organism,  were  after  all  entirely 
materialistic  in  their  outcome.  Personality  was 
not  a  unit,  but  a  combination,  and  the  whole  dis 
cussion  served  but  to  throw  him  into  mental 
confusion  and  dismay. 

At  lunch  Mrs.  Joyce  proposed  that  they  all 
take  an  automobile  ride  round  the  city  and  end 
up  with  a  dinner  at  the  Club;  and  seeing  no 
chance  for  doing  anything  along  the  line  of  secur 
ing  employment,  Victor  consented  to  the  ex 
pedition. 

The  weather  was  glorious,  and  the  troubled 
youth's  brain  cleared  as  if  the  sweet,  cool,  lake 
wind  had  swept  away  the  miasma  which  his 
experience  of  the  darker  side  of  the  city  had 
placed  there.  He  surrendered  himself  to  the 
pleasure,  the  luxury  of  it  recklessly.  How  could 
he  continue  to  brood  over  his  future  with  a  lovely 
girl  by  his  side  and  a  sweet  and  tender  spring 
landscape  unrolling  before  him? 

They  fairly  belted  the  city  in  their  run,  and  in 
the  end,  as  they  went  sweeping  down  the  curv 
ing  driveway  of  the  lake,  Mrs.  Ollnee's  face  was 
delicately  pink  and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  hap 
piness.  To  her  son  she  seemed  once  more  the 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

lovely  and  delicate  figure  of  his  boyhood's  ad 
miration.  It  seemed  that  her  death-like  trance 
had  been  a  horrible  dream. 

The  ride,  the  club-house,  the  dinner,  were  all 
luxurious  to  the  point  of  bewilderment  to  Victor, 
but  he  did  not  betray  his  uneasiness.  He  was 
only  a  little  more  silent,  a  little  more  meditative, 
as  he  took  his  place  at  the  finely  decorated  table 
in  the  pavilion  which  faced  upon  the  water.  He 
determined  (for  the  day  at  least)  to  accept 
everything  that  came  his  way.  This  reckless 
ness  completely  dominated  him  as  he  looked 
across  the  board  at  Leonora,  so  radiant  with 
health  and  youth. 

No  one  would  have  detected  anything  morbid 
in  Mrs.  Ollnee.  She  was  prettily  dressed  and 
not  in  the  least  abnormal,  and  Victor  was  proud 
of  her,  even  though  he  knew  that  her  dresses 
were  earned  by  a  sort  of  necromancy. 

Mrs.  Joyce  carefully  avoided  any  discussion 
of  his  problem,  and  the  dinner  ended  as  joyfully 
at  it  began.  They  rode  home  afterward,  under 
the  bright  half  moon,  silent  for  very  pleasure  in 
the  beautiful  night. 

The  park  was  full  of  loiterers,  two  and  two, 
and  on  the  benches  under  the  trees  others  sat, 
two  and  two  together.  It  was  mating-time  for 
all  the  world,  and  Victor's  blood  was  astir  as  he 
turned  toward  the  stately  girl  whose  face  had 
driven  out  all  others  as  the  moon  drowns  out 
the  stars.  His  audacity  of  the  morning  was 

136 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

gone,  however.  He  looked  at  her  now  with  a 
certain  humble  appeal.  His  subjugation  had 
begun. 

At  the  house  they  all  lingered  for  an  hour  on 
the  back  porch,  which  looked  out  upon  a  little 
formal  garden.  Two  slender  trees  stood  there, 
and  their  silken  rustling  filled  in  the  pauses  of 
the  conversation  like  the  conferring  voices  of  a 
distant  multitude  of  infant  seraphim. 

"Those  must  be  cotton  woods,"  Victor  re 
marked. 

"They  are,"  replied  Mrs.  Joyce.  "I  love 
them.  When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  visit  a 
farm-house  in  whose  yard  were  two  tall  trees  of 
this  sort,  and  their  murmur  always  filled  me 
with  mystical  delight.  I  used  to  lie  in  the 
grass  under  them,  hour  by  hour,  trying  to  imag 
ine  what  they  were  saying  to  me.  Ever  since 
I  had  a  place  of  my  own  I've  had  cotton  wood- 
trees  in  my  yard.  I  know  they're  a  nuisance 
with  their  fuzz,  but  I  love  their  rustling." 

As  she  paused,  the  leaves  uttered  a  pleased 
murmur,  and  Victor,  listening  with  a  new  sense 
of  the  sentiment  which  his  hostess  concealed  in 
a  plump  and  unimposing  form,  thought  he  heard 
a  sibilant  whispered  word  in  his  ear.  "Victor," 
it  said,  "I  love  you." 

He  turned  quickly  toward  his  mother,  but  she 
seemed  not  to  be  listening,  and  a  moment  later 
she  spoke  to  Mrs.  Joyce,  uttering  some  pleasant 
commonplace  about  the  night. 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

This  whisper  was  so  clear,  so  unmistakable, 
that  Victor  could  not  doubt  its  reality.  The 
question  was  which  of  the  women  had  spoken  it. 
He  had  a  foolish  wish  to  believe  that  Leo  had 
uttered  it.  He  listened  again,  but  heard  nothing. 

As  he  was  helping  his  mother  slo\vly  up  the 
stairs  to  her  room,  he  said:  "This  is  all  very 
beautiful,  mother,  but  I  can't  enjoy  it  as  I 
ought.  I  feel  like  a  fraud  every  time  I  see  Mrs. 
Joyce  handing  out  one  of  those  big  bills.  I 
suppose  she  can  afford  it,  but  I  can't.  We  must 
get  back  to  the  old  place,  or  to  some  new  place, 
and  live  on  our  own  resources." 

"We  can't  do  that  till  morning,  dear.  Let  us 
wait  until  The  Voices  speak.  They  have  been 
silent  to-day.  Perhaps  they  will  advise  us  to 
morrow." 

Here  was  the  place  to  tell  her  of  the  whispers 
he  had  heard,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  do  so. 

She  went  on:  "I  wish  you  would  repair  my 
table,  your  grandfather's  table,  as  you  promised, 
Victor.  I  don't  know  why,  but  it  helps  me. 
But  you  must  be  careful  not  to  use  any  metal 
about  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  that's  another  one  of  the  mysteries. 
They  seem  to  object  to  metal." 

"Well,  I'll  get  at  it  to-morrow,"  he  said,  and 
kissing  her  good-night,  went  to  his  own  room. 

He  was  awake  and  dressed  before  six  the  next 
138 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

morning,  and  leaving  a  note  for  Mrs.  Joyce,  set 
out  for  California  Avenue.  On  the  way  he 
dropped  into  a  cheap  cafe  and  got  a  breakfast 
which  cost  him  twenty  cents.  He  enjoyed  this 
keenly,  because,  as  he  said,  it  was  in  his  class 
and  was  paid  for  out  of  the  money  his  mother 
had  given  him  for  his  trophy. 

All  was  quiet  at  the  flat,  and  setting  to  work 
on  the  table  with  glue  and  stout  cord,  he  soon 
had  it  on  its  legs.  Looking  down  upon  it  as  a 
completed  job,  he  marveled  at  the  reverence 
which  his  mother  seemed  to  have  for  it,  and 
his  mind  reverted  to  the  astounding  phenomena 
which  he  himself  had  witnessed  over  its  top. 

Picking  up  one  of  the  folded  slates,  he  opened 
it  with  intent  to  see  if  it  held  any  hidden  springs 
or  false  surfaces.  Out  fluttered  a  folded  paper. 
This  he  snatched  up  and  studied  with  interest. 
It  was  a  peculiar  sort  of  parchment,  veined  like 
a  bit  of  corn-husk,  and  on  it,  written  in  delicate 
and  beautiful  script,  were  these  words:  "Go  to 
Room  70,  Harwood  Bldg.,  to-day.  Danger  threatens. 
Altair." 

"I  wonder  who  Altair  is,"  he  mused,  staring 
at  the  bit  of  paper,  "and  what  is  the  danger  that 
threatens?" 

While  still  he  stood  debating  whether  to  go 
down-town  or  to  warn  his  mother,  a  heavy  step 
on  the  stairs  announced  a  visitor.  The  man  (for 
it  was  plainly  the  tread  of  a  man,  and  a  fat  man) 
knocked  on  the  door,  but  did  not  pause  for  reply. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Are  you  there,   Lucy?"  he  called,  and  came 
in. 

Victor  faced  him  with  instant  resentment  of 
this  familiarity.  ' '  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you 
want  here?"  he  demanded. 

The  other,  a  tall,  clumsy,  broad-faced  in 
dividual  in  costly  clothing,  seemed  surprised  and 
a  little  alarmed.  "I  came  to  see  Mrs.  Ollnee," 
he  explained.  "Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  her  son — and  I  want  to  know  how  you 
dare  to  push  into  my  mother's  house  like  this!" 

"My  name  is  Pettus,"  he  answered,  pacifically. 
"No  doubt  you've  heard  vour  mother  speak  of 
me." 

"Oh  yes,"  responded  the  youth.  "I  heard 
Mr.  Carew  speak  of  you.  You're  president  of 
that  Transportation  Company  they're  all  so 
wild  about." 

A  shade  of  apprehension  passed  over  Pettus' s 
fat,  ugly  face.  "Carew!  You've  seen  him?  I 
suppose  he  gave  me  a  bad  name?  But  never 
mind — where  will  I  find  your  mother?" 

Victor  didn't  like  the  man,  and  he  remained 
silent  till  Pettus  repeated  his  question,  then  he 
answered,  "I  can't  tell  you  where  my  mother  is." 

"You  mean  you  won't!" 

"Well,  yes,  that's  what  I  do  mean." 

Pettus  turned  away.  "I  can  find  her  with 
out  your  aid." 

"What  do  you  want  with  her?" 

"I  want  a  sitting  at  once!" 
140 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

"You  keep  away  from  her!"  Victor  blazed  out. 
' '  I  don't  want  her  sitting  for  you.  She' s  mixed  up 
too  deeply  in  your  affairs  already.  Carew  said — ' ' 

"I  don't  care  what  Carew  said — and  I  don't 
care  whether  you  approve  of  your  mother's  sit 
ting  for  me  or  not.  Her  controls  will  decide 
that  question." 

He  tramped  out  and  down  the  stairway,  and 
from  the  window  Victor  saw  him  whirl  away  in 
his  automobile.  "That  man's  a  scoundrel  and 
a  slob,"  he  said;  "a  greasy  old  slob.  I  will  not 
have  my  mother  sitting  for  such  people.  Can't 
I  head  him  off  somehow?" 

With  sudden  resolution  he  ran  down  the  stair 
way  and  over  to  the  telephone  booth  on  the 
corner.  He  got  the  butler  at  once,  and  was 
deeply  relieved  to  find  that  his  mother  was  out 
with  Mrs.  Joyce.  "He  can't  see  her  before  I 
do,"  he  concluded,  as  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 
"I'll  go  over  there  and  wait  for  her  to  return." 

As  he  neared  the  house  he  met  Leo  coming 
out  with  some  letters  in  her  hand,  and  with  the 
swift  resiliency  of  youth,  he  asked  if  he  might 
not  walk  with  her. 

"Certainly,"  she  said;  "I  want  to  talk  with 
you  about  your  plans." 

"I  haven't  any  plans,"  he  said. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  this  morning?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  answered :  "I've 
been  mending  that  old  table — I  suppose  you 
heard  about  my  smashing  it?" 

141 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Yes;  and  it  seemed  a  very  childish  thing 
to  do." 

"If  you  knew  how  I  hate  that  business  and 
everything  connected  with  it!" 

"I  do,  and  it  seems  absurd  to  me.  Your 
mother's  life  is  very  wonderful  and  very  beauti 
ful  to  me." 

He  changed  the  subject.  "Did  that  man 
Pettus  call  just  now?" 

"Yes." 

"He's  a  scoundrel — that  chap.  A  four- 
flusher." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"Well,  the  very  looks  of  the  man." 

She  laughed.  "He  isn't  pretty,  but  he's  a 
very  decent  citizen — and  has  a  lovely  wife  and 
two  daughters." 

"He's  a  slob — his  face  gives  him  away — and 
besides,  Mr.  Carew  the  other  night— 

' '  I  know, ' '  she  interrupted ;  "Mr.  Carew  is  sure 
we're  all  going  to  be  ruined  by  your  mother  and 
the  Universal  Transportation  Company." 

"I  hope  you  haven't  put  your  money  into 
anything  Pettus  has  control  of?" 

"Oh,  don't  let's  talk  business  on  a  morning 
like  this.  It's  criminal — let's  talk  about  trees 
and  birds  and  flowers."  She  might  have  added 
"and  love,"  for  when  youth  and  spring-time 
meet,  even  on  a  city  boulevard,  love  is  the  most 
important  subject  in  the  encyclopedia  of  life.  So 
they  walked  and  talked  and  jested  in  the  way 

142 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

of  young  men  and  maidens,  and  Victor  talked 
of  himself,  finding  his  life-history  vastly  ab 
sorbing  when  discussed  by  a  tall  girl  with  a 
splendid  profile  and  a  cultivated  voice.  He 
watched  her  buy  her  stamps  at  the  drug-store, 
finding  in  her  every  movement  something  ador 
able.  The  poise  of  her  bust  and  her  fine  head 
appealed  to  him  with  power;  but  her  humor, 
her  cool,  clear  gaze,  checked  the  crude  compli 
ments  which  he  was  moved  to  utter.  She  could 
not  be  addressed  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
address  his  girl  class-mates  at  Winona. 

This  walk  completed  the  severance  of  the  ties 
which  bound  him  to  the  university.  His  desire 
to  return  to  his  games  weakened.  His  ambition 
to  shine  as  an  athlete  faded.  He  wished  to  prove 
to  this  proud  girl  that  he  was  neither  boy  nor 
dreamer,  and  that  he  was  competent  to  take 
care  of  himself  and  his  mother  as  well. 

As  they  were  re-entering  the  house,  he  said: 
"Don't  utter  a  word  of  what  I've  told  you. 
I'm  going  to  test  whether  my  mother  has  the 
power  to  read  my  mind  or  not." 

"I  understand,"  she  returned,  "and  I'm  glad 
you're  going  to  share  in  our  seance  to-night." 

He  frowned.  "Don't  say  'seance.'  I  hate 
that  word." 

She  laughed.  "Aren't  you  fierce!  But  I'll 
respect  your  prejudices  so  far  as  an  utterly  un 
prejudiced  person  can." 

"  Do  you  call  yourself  an  unprejudiced  person  ?" 
143 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"I  try  to  be." 

"But  you're  not.  You  have  a  prejudice  against 
me,"  he  insisted,  forcing  the  personal  note. 

"Oh,  you're  quite  mistaken,"  she  replied;  "in 
fact  I  think  you're  rather  nice — for  a  boy." 
And  she  went  away,  leaving  him  to  fume  under 
this  indignity. 

Mrs.  Joyce  and  Mrs.  Ollnee  came  in  soon  after 
ward,  and  they  all  took  tea  together  quite  as 
casually  as  if  they  were  not  on  the  edge  of  some 
thing  very  thrilling  and  profoundly  mysterious. 
Mrs.  Joyce  politely  asked  Victor  what  he  had 
been  doing,  but  his  answers  were  evasive.  He 
made  no  mention  of  Pettus,  though  he  was 
burning  with  desire  to  warn  her  against  him. 

Soon  afterward  they  went  to  his  mother's 
room,  and  once  safely  inside  the  door  he  turned 
upon  her.  "Mother,  are  you  going  to  sit  for 
Pettus  to-night?" 

"I  expect  him,  but  I'm  not  sitting  for  him 
specially." 

"I  won't  have  him  in  the  circle!  He  is  a 
slimy  old  beast.  I  hate  him — and  Mr.  Carew 
warned  us  against  him.  He  wasn't  guessing, 
mother,  he  knows  that  this  old  four-flusher  is 
up  to  some  deviltry.  How  did  he  find  you?" 

"He  called  us  up." 

"I  simply  will  not  have  him  sit  with  you 
again,  and  you  must  not  advise  any  one  to  put 
a  cent  into  his  concern.  Where  are  you  going 
to  have  this  performance?" 

144 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

"I  thought  of  sitting  here,  but  I  need  the  old 
table.  You  mended  it,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  mended  it." 

"And  you  had  a  message  from  Altair?" 

"How  did  you  learn  that?" 

"I  felt  it,"  she  answered,  gravely.  "She  said 
danger  threatened — did  she  tell  you  what  the 
danger  was?" 

"No;  who  is  Altair  supposed  to  be?" 

"She  is  a  very  pure  and  high  spirit — a  girl  of 
wonderful  beauty — so  they  say.  I  have  never 
seen  her  myself — she  told  me  to-day  that  she 
would  watch  over  you." 

At  this  moment  a  whisper  was  heard  in  the 
air  just  above  her  head. 

"Lucy!" 

"Yes,  father." 

' '  Take  the  boy — sit — the  old  place.  Leave  Pettus 
out.1' 

"Yes,  father." 

"7  will  be  there.     Pettus  is  under  investigation." 

"Much  obliged,"  said  Victor;  and  then  he 
heard  close  to  his  ear  a  faint  whisper :  ' '  Victor, 
you  shall  see  me — Altair." 

He  was  staring  straight  at  his  mother's  lips 
at  the  moment,  and  yet  he  was  unable  to  detect 
any  visible  part  in  the  production  of  the  voice. 
She  explained  the  whisper.  "Altair  is  smiling 
at  you.  She  says  she  will  be  with  us  to-night." 

All  this  was  very  shocking  to  Victor.  Utter 
ly  disconcerted  and  unable  to  confront  her  at 

MS 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

the  moment,  he  left  the  room.  The  whole  prob 
lem  of  her  mental  condition,  the  central  kernel 
of  her  philosophy  was  involved  in  that  one  whis 
per.  To  solve  that  was  to  solve  it  all.  It  was 
not  so  much  a  question  of  how  she  did  it,  it  was 
a  question  of  her  right  to  deceive  him. 

He  seized  the  time  between  tea  and  dinner 
to  return  to  the  library.  For  an  hour  he  dug 
into  the  spongy  soil  of  metaphysics,  and  it  hap 
pened  that  he  fell  at  last  upon  the  Crookes  and 
Zollner  experiments  (quoted  at  greater  length 
in  a  volume  of  collected  experience)  and  found 
there  clear  and  direct  testimony  as  to  the  mind's 
mastery  of  matter.  There  was  abundant  evi 
dence  of  the  handling  of  fire  by  the  medium 
Home,  and  Slade's  ability  to  float  in  the  air  was 
attested  by  well-known  witnesses,  but  beyond 
this  and  closer  to  his  own  day,  he  came  upon  a 
detailed  study  of  an  Italian  psychic  with  her 
"supernumerary  hands,"  a  story  which  should 
have  made  the  materialization  of  a  letter  seem 
very  simple.  But  it  did  not.  All  the  testimony 
of  these  great  men,  abundant  as  it  was,  slid 
from  his  mind  as  harmlessly  as  water  from  oiled 
silk.  Apparently,  it  failed  to  alter  the  texture 
of  his  thought  in  the  slightest  degree.  His  world 
was  the  world  of  youth,  the  good  old  wholesome, 
stable  world,  and  he  refused  to  be  convinced. 

At  dinner  he  was  angered,  in  spite  of  Leo's 
presence,  by  his  mother's  returning  confidence 
and  ease  of  manner.  His  own  position  had  been 

146 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

weakened,  he  felt,  by  his  acquiescence  in  the 
sitting.  His  desire  to  satisfy  himself,  to  solve 
his  mother's  mystery,  had  led  him  to  abandon 
his  stern  resolution — and  he  regretted  it.  He 
ate  sparingly  and  took  no  wine,  being  resolved 
to  retain  a  perfectly  clear  head  for  the  evening's 
experiment.  He  was  grateful  to  Leo  for  keep 
ing  the  talk  on  subjects  of  general  interest,  even 
though  he  had  little  part  in  it,  and  his  liking 
for  her  deepened. 

As  he  neared  the  test  he  began  to  sharply 
realize  that  for  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  he 
was  about  to  take  part  in  one  of  his  mother's 
hated  "performances,"  and  his  breath  was 
troubled  by  the  excitement  of  it.  "I  will  make 
this  test  conclusive,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  his 
jaw  squared.  "There  will  be  no  nonsense  to 
night." 

The  papers  of  the  day  had  remained  free  from 
any  further  allusion  to  "the  Spiritual  Blood- 
Suckers,"  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  cloud 
might  be  lifting,  and  this  consideration  made  his 
participation  in  the  sitting  all  the  more  like  a 
return  to  a  lower  and  less  defensible  position. 
He  was  irritated  by  the  methodical  action  with 
which  his  mother  proceeded  to  set  the  stage  for 
her  farce.  Wood,  who  seemed  quite  at  home, 
assisted  in  these  preparations,  leaving  Victor 
leaning  in  sullen  silence  against  the  wall. 

Mrs.  Joyce  took  a  seat  directly  opposite  the 
little  psychic,  Wood  sat  at  her  left,  while  Victor, 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

with  Leo  at  his  right,  completed  the  little  cres 
cent.  Mrs.  Ollnee,  with  her  small,  battered  table 
before  her,  faced  them  across  its  top.  Victor 
made  no  objection  to  this  arrangement,  but  kept 
an  alert  eye  on  every  movement.  He  watched 
her  closely.  She  first  breathed  into  one  of  the 
horns  and  put  it  beside  her,  then  held  one  of  the 
slates  between  her  palms  for  a  little  time.  "I 
hope  this  will  be  illuminated  to-night,"  she  said. 

This  remark  gave  Victor  a  twinge  of  disgust 
and  bewildered  pain.  "She  is  too  little  and 
sweet  and  fine  to  be  the  high  priest  of  such  jug 
glery,"  he  thought,  but  did  not  cease  his  watch 
ful  attention,  even  for  an  instant. 

The  locking  of  the  door,  the  turning  out  of 
the  light  and  the  taking  hands  in  the  good  old 
traditional  way  all  irritated  and  well-nigh  es 
tranged  him.  Why  should  his  life  be  thrown 
into  the  midst  of  such  cheap  and  ill-odored 
drama?  "This  shall  never  happen  again,"  he 
vowed,  beneath  his  breath. 

There  was  not  much  talk  during  the  first  half- 
hour,  for  the  reason  that  Victor  was  too  self- 
accusing  to  talk,  and  the  others  were  too  solemn 
and  too  eager  for  results  to  enter  upon  general 
conversation.  For  the  most  part,  they  spoke  in 
low  voices  and  waited  and  listened. 

The  first  indication  of  anything  unusual,  aside 
from  the  tapping,  was  a  breeze,  a  deathly  cold 
wind,  which  began  to  blow  faintly  over  the  table 
from  his  mother,  bearing  a  peculiar  perfume  (an 

148 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

odor  like  that  from  some  Oriental  rug),  which 
grew  in  power  till  each  of  the  sitters  remarked 
upon  it.  This  current  of  air  continued  so  long 
and  so  uninterruptedly  that  Victor  began  to 
wonder.  Could  it  be  his  mother's  breath?  If 
she  were  not  fraudulently  producing  it,  then  it 
must  be  that  some  window  had  been  opened. 
The  network  of  her  deceit— if  it  was  deceit- 
thickened. 

Mrs.  Joyce  then  said,  in  a  low  voice:  "We  are 
to  have  celestial  visitors  to-night.  That  is  the 
wind  which  accompanies  the  astral  forms." 

"Yes,"  said  Leo,  "and  that  perfume  always 
accompanies  Altair.  Are  we  to  see  Altair?"  she 
softly  asked. 

A  sibilant  whisper  replied,  "Yes,  soon." 

A  moment  later,  another  and  distinctly  differ 
ent  voice  called  softly,  "My  son" 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Victor. 

"Your  father." 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

"The  power  of  the  mind  is  limitless"  the  whis 
pered  voice  replied.  "Matter,  the  strongest  steel, 
is  but  a  form  of  motion" 

"What  is  all  that  to  me?"  asked  Victor. 

"As  you  think  so  you  will  be.  Be  strong  and 
constant" 

The  vagueness  of  all  this  increased  Victor's 
irritation.  "What  about  Pettus?" 

The  voice  hesitated,  weakened  a  little.  "/ 
can't  tell— not  now— I  will  ask" 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

What  followed  did  not  come  clearly  and  con 
secutively  to  Victor,  for  Mrs.  Joyce  (who  was 
expert  in  hearing  and  reporting  the  whispers) 
repeated  each  sentence  or  the  substance  of  it 
to  him.  But  he  himself  heard  a  considerable 
part  of  it.  In  the  very  midst  of  a  sentence  the 
voice  stopped.  It  was  as  if  a  wire  had  been 
cut,  or  the  receiver  hung  up;  the  silence  was 
like  death  itself. 

Victor  called  out  to  his  mother:  "Can  you 
hear  The  Voices,  mother?  They  seem  to  come 
from  where  you  are." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  explained. 
"She  is  gone." 

Again  the  cold  breeze  set  in,  with  a  strong, 
steady  swell,  and  with  it  was  borne  a  low,  hum 
ming  note,  which  grew  in  volume  and  depth  till 
it  resembled  the  roaring  rush  of  a  November 
blast  through  the  branches  of  an  oak.  It  be 
came  awesome  at  last,  with  its  majesty  of  moan 
ing  song,  and  saddening  with  its  somber  sugges 
tion  of  autumn  and  of  death.  It  opened  the 
shabby  little  room  upon  an  empty  and  limitless 
space,  upon  an  infinite  and  vacant  and  obscure 
desert  wherein  night  and  storms  contended.  It 
died  away  at  last,  leaving  the  air  chill  and  pulse 
less,  and  the  chamber  darker  than  before. 

Before  any  comment  could  be  made  upon  this 
astounding  phenomenon,  Victor  perceived  a  faint 
glow  of  phosphorus  upon  the  table.  It  increased 
in  brilliancy  till  it  presented  a  clear-cut  square 

150 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

of  some  greenish  glowing  substance,  and  then  a 
large  hand  in  a  ruffled  sleeve  appeared  above  it 
as  if  in  the  act  of  writing. 

"It  is  Watts,"  whispered  Leo.  "He  is  writ 
ing  for  us." 

Bending  forward,  Victor  was  able  to  read  this 
message  outlined  in  dark  script  on  the  glowing 
surface  of  what  seemed  to  be  the  slate:  "The 
dreams  of  to-day  are  the  realities  of  to-morrow." 
These  words  faded  and  again  the  shadowy  hand 
swept  over  the  table,  and  this  companion  sen 
tence  followed:  "The  realities  of  to-day  will  be 
but  the  half-truths  or  the  gross  errors  of  the  future. 

"WATTS." 

Victor  was  strongly  tempted  to  clutch  this 
hand,  but  fear  of  something  unpleasant  pre 
vented  him  from  doing  so.  He  was  sick  with 
apprehension,  with  dread  of  what  might  happen 
next.  A  feeling  of  guilt,  of  remorse,  came  upon 
him.  "  I  am  to  blame  for  this !"  he  thought,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  rising  and  calling  for  the 
lights,  when  something  happened  which  changed 
not  merely  his  feeling  at  the  moment,  but  the 
whole  course  of  his  life,  so  incredible,  so  destruc 
tive  of  all  physical  laws,  of  all  his  scientific  train 
ing  was  the  phenomenon.  A  hand,  large  and 
shapely,  took  up  the  glowing  slate  and  held  it 
like  a  lamp  to  his  mother's  face,  so  that  all  might 
see  her.  She  sat  with  hands  outspread  upon 
the  table,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  eyes  closed. 
Her  arms  extended  in  riid  lines.  It  seemed 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

that  the  invisible  ones  desired  to  prove  to  Victor 
that  his  mother  could  not  and  was  not  holding 
the  slate. 

Swift  as  light  the  glowing  mirror  disappeared, 
and  then,  as  if  through  a  window  opened  in  the 
air  before  his  eyes,  Victor  perceived  a  strange  face 
confronting  him,  the  face  of  a  girl  with  deep  and 
tender  eyes,  incredibly  beautiful.  Her  eyes  were 
in  shadow,  but  the  pure  oval  of  her  cheeks,  the 
dainty  grace  of  her  chin,  the  broad,  full  brow 
and  something  ineffably  pure  in  the  faintly 
happy  smile,  stopped  his  breath  with  awe.  He 
forgot  his  mother,  his  problems,  his  doubts,  in 
study  of  the  unearthly  beauty  of  this  vision. 

Mrs.  Joyce  whispered  in  ecstasy,  "It  is  Altair!" 

The  angelic  lips  parted,  and  a  low  voice,  so 
gentle  it  was  like  the  murmur  of  a  leaf,  replied, 
"  Yes,  it  is  Altair."  And  to  Victor  her  voice  was 
of  exquisite  delicacy.  "Believe,  be  faithful." 

No  one  breathed.  It  was  as  if  they  had  been 
permitted  to  gaze  upon  one  of  heaven's  angelic 
choir.  How  came  she  there?  Who  was  she? 
Before  these  questions  could  be  framed  she  dis 
appeared,  silently  as  a  bubble  on  the  water,  leav 
ing  behind  only  that  delicious,  subtle,  unaccount 
able  odor  as  of  tropic  fruits  and  unknown  flowers. 

Leo,  breathing  a  sigh  of  sad  ecstasy,  exclaimed : 
"Is  she  not  beautiful?  Never  has  she  shown 
herself  more  glorious  than  to-night." 

Victor  was  like  one  drugged  and  dreaming. 
There  was  no  question  of  his  mother's  honesty 

152 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

in  his  mind.  He  did  not  relate  the  vision  to 
her,  and  he  winced  with  pain  as  Leo  spoke.  He 
wished  to  recall  the  face,  to  hear  that  whisper 
again.  The  effect  upon  him  was  enormous,  in 
stant,  unfolding.  In  all  his  life  nothing  mystic, 
nothing  to  disturb  or  rouse  his  imagination  had 
hitherto  come  to  him,  and  now  this  transcendent 
marvel,  this  face  born  of  the  invisible  and  intan 
gible  essence  of  the  air,  beat  down  his  self-assur 
ance  and  destroyed  his  smug  conception  of  the 
universe.  He  lost  sight  of  his  hypothesis  and 
accepted  Altair  for  what  she  seemed,  a  glori 
ously  beautiful  soul  of  another  world,  a  world 
of  purity  and  light  and  love. 

He  remained  silent  as  Mrs.  Joyce  rose  and 
went  to  his  mother.  He  was  still  in  his  seat 
when  they  turned  up  the  lights.  Leo  spoke  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  answer.  Strange  trans 
formation!  At  the  moment  her  voice  jarred 
upon  him.  She  seemed  commonplace,  prosaic, 
in  contrast  with  the  woman  who  had  looked  upon 
him  from  the  luminous  shadow. 

Gradually  the  walls  he  hated,  the  entangling 
relationship  he  feared,  returned  upon  him;  and 
though  he  realized  something  of  the  revealing 
character  of  his  reticence,  he  had  not  the  will 
to  break  it.  He  watched  his  mother  return  to 
her  normal  self  with  such  detachment  that  she 
at  last  became  aware  of  it  and  lifted  her  feeble 
hands  in  search  of  him.  "Victor,  come  to  me!" 
she  pleaded. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

He  went  to  her  then,  still  in  a  daze,  and  to 
her  question,  ''Did  your  father  come?"  he  re 
plied,  brokenly,  "A  voice  came,  but  I  can't  talk 
about  that  now — I  must  go  out  into  the  air." 

All  perceived  the  tumult — the  strange  psychic 
condition  into  which  he  had  been  thrown,  and 
were  considerate  enough  to  refrain  from  pressing 
him  with  inquiry.  "He  has  been  touched  by 
'the  power,"  whispered  Mrs.  Joyce  to  Leo. 
"He's  under  conviction." 

The  cool,  clear  air  and  the  material  rush  of 
the  city  throbbing  in  upon  his  brain  restored 
the  youth  to  something  like  his  normal  self; 
but  he  remained  silent  and  distraught  all  the 
way  home. 

As  they  entered  the  hall  Leo  glanced  at  his 
face  with  unsmiling,  penetrating  intensity,  and 
in  that  moment  perceived  that  Victor  the  boy 
had  given  place  to  Victor  the  man.  She  ex 
perienced  a  swift  change  of  relationship,  and  a 
pang  of  jealousy  shot  through  her  heart.  She 
realized  that  the  wondrous  spirit  face  was  the 
power  that  had  so  wrought  upon  and  transformed 
him.  She,  too,  had  thrilled  to  the  mystical 
beauty  of  the  phantom,  and  she  had  read  in  the 
tremulous  lips  the  hesitating  whisper,  a  love 
for  the  young  mortal,  which  had  troubled  her  at 
the  moment,  and  which  became  more  serious 
to  her  now. 

They  said  good-night  as  strangers ;  he  absorbed, 
absent-minded ;  she  resentful  and  a  little  hurt. 


HE  REPAIRS  HIS  MOTHER'S  ALTAR 

To  his  mother,  when  they  were  alone  in  her 
room,  he  said,  haltingly:  " Mother,  you  must 
forgive  me.  I  thought  you  did  those  things — 
unconsciously  cheating — but  now — I — give  it 
up.  I  believe  in  you  absolutely." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  wet  with  happy 
tears.  "My  son!  My  splendid  boy!"  she  said, 
and  in  her  voice  was  song. 


IX 


THE    LAW'S   DELAY 


BELIEF,"  says  the  wise  man,  "is  not  a 
matter  of  evidence;  it  is  a  habit  of  mind." 
And  notwithstanding  his  confession  of  inward 
transformation,  Victor  found  doubt  still  hidden 
deep  in  his  brain  when  he  woke  the  following 
morning.  His  conviction  had  been  temporary. 

In  his  musing  upon  Altair  he  began  to  remem 
ber  some  very  curious  details.  He  recalled  that 
at  first  glance  he  had  inwardly  exclaimed,  '  *  How 
much  she  looks  like  Leo!"  The  lips  and  chin 
were  similar,  only  sadder,  sweeter — and  the  poise 
of  the  head  was  like  hers  also.  But  the  brow 
and  the  eyes  were  more  like  his  mother's.  It 
was  as  though  Altair  were  at  once  the  heavenly 
sister  of  Leonora  and  the  spirit  daughter  of  his 
mother,  and  the  love  which  lay  on  the  tremulous 
lips,  the  deep,  serious  eyes,  moved  him  still  with 
almost  undiminished  power.  He  was  eager  to 
see  the  celestial  face  again. 

He  was  less  clear  about  his  own  physical  con 
dition  at  the  time.  He  remembered  feeling  weak 
and  chilled,  as  though  some  of  his  own  vitality 

156 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

had  gone  out  of  his  blood  in  the  attempt  to 
warm  that  unaccountable  being  into  life.  He 
recalled  his  parting  with  his  mother  as  if  it  were 
the  incident  in  a  painful  dream.  It  was  all  im 
possible,  incredible,  and  yet — it  happened! 

His  morning  mood  was  eager  and  searching. 
He  was  quite  ready  to  see  Leo,  ready  to  talk  with 
her  of  all  that  had  taken  place.  Hitherto  he  had 
avoided  any  detailed  story  of  his  mother's  evoca 
tions,  but  now  he  was  violently  curious  to  know 
whether  or  no  she  had  ever  performed  these  par 
ticular  rites  before.  He  wished  to  hear  all  that 
Leo  had  to  say,  and  he  was  deeply  disappointed 
when  neither  she  nor  his  hostess  appeared  at  the 
breakfast  table. 

He  finished  his  meal  hurriedly  (as  soon  as  it 
became  evident  that  he  was  to  be  alone),  and 
instead  of  going  down-town  returned  to  the  li 
brary  to  reread  the  famous  story  of  Sir  William 
Crookes  and  ''Katie  King" — every  word  of 
which  had  acquired  new  meaning  to  him.  He 
thrilled  now  to  the  calm,  bald  narrative,  reading 
between  the  lines  the  inner  story  of  the  great 
scientist's  bewildered  love  for  the  stainless  vi 
sion  which  he  had  evoked  but  could  not  endow 
with  lasting  life. 

The  boy  dwelt  upon  the  scene  of  their  parting 
with  peculiar  pain,  perceiving  in  it  new  pathos. 
A  throb  of  sorrow  came  into  his  throat.  Was 
Altair  but  a  transitory  flower  of  the  dark — aloof, 
intangible,  and  sad?  What  meant  the  wistful 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

sweetness  of  her  smile  ?  Was  she  unhappy  in  the 
icy  realms  from  which  she  came?  Did  she  long 
for  human  companionship?  Would  she  come 
again?  He  found  himself  longing  for  the  night 
and  another  sitting  with  his  mother.  He  felt 
vaguely  the  disappointment  which  comes  to 
those  who  listen  to  the  messages  of  these  celestial 
apparitions,  so  commonplace,  so  vaporous,  so 
inane.  "Katie  King,"  surpassing  all  earthly 
women  in  her  physical  loveliness,  brought  no 
sentence  of  intellectual  distinction  from  the 
mysterious  void  which  was  her  home. 

In  the  midst  of  this  astounding  narrative  he 
heard  Leo's  voice  in  the  hall,  and  with  a  guilty 
start  put  his  book  away  and  rose  to  meet  her, 
remembering  that  he  had  not  treated  her  very 
well  after  the  sitting,  though  he  could  not  recall 
the  precise  reason  for  it.  Gradually  her  step, 
the  sound  of  her  voice,  reasserted  their  charm, 
and  he  returned  to  the  breakfast-room  like  a  boy 
who  has  been  sullen  and  knows  it,  but  hopes  to 
be  forgiven. 

His  shamefaced  entrance  disarmed  her  resent 
ment,  and  in  her  merry  smile  of  greeting  the 
dream  face  faded  away.  The  marvelous  vision 
of  the  night  lost  its  dominion  over  him,  and  he 
became  again  the  son  of  the  morning. 

The  girl  openly  mocked  him.  "You  look 
pale  and  sheepish.  What  have  you  been  doing  ?" 

"I've  been  reading  about  'Katie  King.'  Do 
you  believe  that  story?" 

158 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

"We  must  believe  it  when  a  man  like  Sir 
William  Crookes  tells  it.  Do  you  believe  what 
you  saw  and  heard  last  night?" 

"No,  I  don't.     How  can  I?" 

"You  seemed  to  believe  in  the  vision  of 
Altair,"  she  persisted,  eying  him  archly.  "You 
were  carried  away  by  her  wonderful  beauty.  I 
don't  blame  you.  Her  loveliness  is  beyond  any 
thing  on  this  earth.  A  vision  like  that  of  subli 
mated  womanhood,  purified  of  all  its  dross,  is 
very  hard  on  us  mortals.  Altair  doesn't  find  it 
necessary  to  eat  eggs  and  toast,  as  I  am  doing 
this  minute.  I'm  a  horribly  vulgar  and  com 
mon  creature  I  know,  and  I  ought  to  apologize, 
but  I  won't.  I  like  being  a  normal  human  being, 
and  if  you  don't  like  to  see  me  eat  you  may  go 
away." 

"I  like  nothing  better  than  to  see  you  eat,  and 
I've  just  had  a  couple  of  eggs  myself.  I  was 
hoping  all  the  time  you  would  come  down  and 
join  me,  but  you  didn't." 

"I  didn't  get  to  sleep  as  usual  last  night," 
she  confessed,  with  a  change  of  tone.  "Altair 
came  to  me  and  kept  me  stirred  up  till  nearly 
two  o'clock." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  she  hung  about  my  bed,  tapping  and 
sighing  incessantly  for  what  seemed  like  hours." 

"Could  you  see  her?" 

"Part  of  the  time.  Finally  I  turned  up  the 
light  and  got  rid  of  her." 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then  burst 
out  wildly.:  "Are  we  all  going  crazy  together? 
When  I  hear  you  talk  like  that  it  makes  me 
angry,  and  it  makes  me  sad.  I  never  met  such 
people  before.  What  does  it  all  mean?  Seems 
like  everybody  around  my  mother  is  bitten  by 
this  ghost-bug." 

"You,  too,"  she  accused.  "You  caught  a 
little  of  the  madness  last  night." 

"I  did,  I  admit  it;  but  I'm  going  to  throw  it 
off.  I  won't  have  any  more  of  it." 

"Is  your  curiosity  satisfied?" 

"No,  it  is  not;  but  I'm  not  going  to  desert 
the  good  old  sunny  world  I  know  for  the  kind 
of  windy  graveyard  we  faced  last  night.  Even 
the  eyes  of  Altair  were  sad.  Did  you  notice  it  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  she  admitted.  "And  that's  one 
of  the  things  I  can't  understand.  The  spirits  all 
say  they  are  happy,  but  they  look  wistful,  and 
their  voices  indicate  that  they  are  filled  with 
longing  to  return." 

"I'm  going  to  break  out  of  this  circle  of  my 
mother's  converts,"  he  passionately  declared. 
"I've  got  to  do  it,  or  '11  get  all  twisted  out  of 
shape  like  the  rest  of  you.  I'm  going  to  try 
again  to-day  to  reach  some  man  who  has  never 
heard  of  a  psychic.  I'm  going  to  some  big  mill 
and  apply  for  manual  labor.  There's  something 
uncanny  in  the  way  I'm  kept  circling  around 
mother's  cranky  patrons.  I'll  get  batty  in  the 
steeple  if  I  don't  get  help.  Let's  go  out  for  a 

160 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

walk  in  the  park.  Let's  forget  we're  immortal 
souls  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  want  to  see  a  tree. 
Let's  go  to  the  ball  game — and  to  the  theater 
to-night — that'll  take  all  the  money  I  have  left, 
and  leave  me  just  square  with  the  world,  so  I 
can  jump  into  the  lake  to-morrow  without  any 
body  else's  money  in  my  pocket.  Come,  what 
do  you  say?" 

She  perceived  something  more  than  humor  in 
his  noisy  declamation,  and  accepted  his  challenge. 
"I'll  go  you,"  she  slangily  replied ;  "just  wait  till 
I  get  my  walking-togs  on." 

"You've  got  to  hurry,"  he  warned.  "I'm 
going  to  get  out  of  this  house  before  anything 
crazy  happens  to  me.  Meet  me  down  at  the 
corner  of  the  boulevard." 

He  left  the  room  with  intent  to  avoid  both 
his  mother  and  Mrs.  Joyce.  At  the  moment  he 
wished  to  remove  himself  from  any  further  argu 
ment,  and  his  longing  for  the  trees  and  the  park 
was  a  genuine  reaction  from  his  long  stress  of 
the  supernatural.  "My  search  for  a  job  can 
go  over  till  to-morrow,"  he  decided. 

He  was  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  be 
wilderment,  his  pain  of  the  night  before,  to  glow 
with  pleasure  as  he  saw  Leonora  swinging  along 
toward  him.  "She  carries  herself  well,"  he  said. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  light-gray  skirt  and  jacket, 

and  her  white  hat  had  a  long,  gray  quill  which 

waved  back  over  the  rim,  giving  her  the  jaunty 

air  of  a  yacht  under  reefed  sail.     Her  face  was 

161 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

brilliant  with  color,  and  her  eyes  were  alight  with 
humor.  "Aunt  Louise  wanted  to  know  where 
we  were  going,  and  I  said  'St.  Joe,  Michigan.' " 

He  pretended  not  to  see  the  joke.  "St.  Joe; 
why  St.  Joe?" 

As  she  caught  his  stride  she  demurely  an 
swered,  "If  you  don't  know,  it's  not  for  me  to 
explain." 

"I  suppose  people  do  go  to  St.  Joe  for  other 
purposes  than  marriage?" 

"It  is  possible,  but  they  never  get  into  the 
newspapers.  We  only  hear  of  the  young  things 
who  beat  their  angry  parents  by  just  one  boat." 
She  changed  her  tone.  "Where  shall  we  go?" 

"I  don't  object  to  St.  Joe." 

She  pretended  to  be  shocked.  "How  sud 
den  you  are!  We've  only  known  each  other  two 
days." 

"Three.  However,  we  might  make  it  a  trial 
marriage.  You  could  put  me  on  probation." 

"After  your  display  of  inconstancy  last  night 
I  wouldn't  trust  you  even  for  a  probationary 
engagement." 

He  harked  back  to  the  vision  of  Altair.  "She 
was  beautiful,  wasn't  she  ?  Did  she  really  exist, 
or  was  it  merely  some  sort  of  hallucination?" 

"I  thought  you  weren't  going  to  discuss  these 
subjects?" 

He  assented  instantly.  "Quite  right.  Give 
me  a  crack  on  the  ear  every  time  I  break  out. 
I  wish  I  were  a  robin.  See  that  chap  on  the 

162 


THE   LAW'S   DELAY 

lawn!  His  clothes  grow  of  themselves,  and  as 
for  food,  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  tap  on  the  ground, 
and  out  pops  a  worm." 

"I  prefer  roast  beef  and  asparagus  tips;  and 
as  for  wearing  the  same  feathers  all  the  time — 
horrible!" 

In  such  wise  they  talked,  touching  lightly  on 
a  hundred  trivial  subjects,  yet  carrying  the  re 
membrance  of  Altair  as  an  undertone  to  every 
word.  They  walked  up  the  boulevard  to  the 
Midway,  then  through  the  park  to  the  lagoon, 
and  the  sight  of  the  water  cheered  Victor.  "A 
boat!"  he  cried.  "Us  for  a  boat-ride." 

He  was  a  skilled  and  powerful  oarsman  (she 
had  never  seen  his  equal),  and  his  bared  arms, 
the  roll  of  his  splendid  muscles,  were  a  delight  to 
her  eyes. 

He  exulted  as  the  water  cried  out  under  the 
keel.  "This  is  what  I  needed.  I've  been  with 
out  a  chance  to  kill  something,  or  beat  some 
body,  for  three  or  four  days.  I  am  cracking  for 
lack  of  exercise.  Walking  isn't  exercise." 

The  heavy  boat,  under  his  sweeping  strokes, 
cut  through  the  water  like  a  canoe,  and  the  girl 
on  the  stern  seat  watched  him  with  dreaming 
eyes,  her  air  of  patronization  lost  in  contempla 
tion  of  his  skill,  her  hands  on  the  tiller-rope,  her 
attitude  of  ease  and  irresponsibility  typifying 
the  American  woman,  just  as  his  intense  and 
driving  action  represented  the  American  man. 

He  traversed  the  entire  length  of  the  lagoon 
163 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

before  his  need  of  muscular  activity  was  met| 
then  they  drifted,  exclaiming  with  pleasure  over 
the  charming  vistas  which  every  turn  of  their 
boat  afforded.  The  catbirds  were  singing  in 
the  willows,  and  the  banks  were  white  and  yel 
low  with  flowering  shrubs,  and  over  all  the  clear 
sunlight  fell  in  cascades  of  gold.  The  wind  was 
from  the  lake,  cool  but  not  chill;  and  every  leaf 
glistened  as  if  newly  burnished.  The  day  was 
perfect  spring,  and  under  its  influence  the  two 
beings,  young  and  ardent,  inclined  irresistibly 
toward  each  other. 

The  girl,  who,  up  to  this  moment,  had  been 
indifferent,  not  so  say  scornful,  of  the  advances 
of  men,  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure  which 
the  companionship  of  this  young  giant  afforded 
her.  Altair  and  all  that  she  represented  were  very 
far  and  faint,  dimmed,  burned  away  into  nothing 
ness  by  the  vivid  sun  of  this  entrancing  day. 

For  hours  they  explored  the  lagoons,  talking 
nonsense,  the  divine  nonsense  of  youth,  or  sitting 
idly  and  gazing  at  each  other  with  the  new-born 
frankness  of  lovers.  At  last  she  said,  "I'm 
hungry,  aren't  you?" 

"As  a  wolf,"  he  responded. 

"Shall  we  go  home?" 

"Home?  I  have  no  home.  No,  let's  camp 
right  here  in  the  park.  There  must  be  a  lunch 
counter  somewhere." 

"There's  something  better  than  a  lunch 
counter.  There's  the  German  Building." 

164 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

"I'll  stand  you  for  a  beer  and  sandwich,"  he 
shouted .  ' '  Show  it  to  me . ' ' 

Returning  the  boat  to  the  landing,  he  paid  his 
fee  with  a  satisfied  smile.  "I  never  gave  up 
forty-five  cents  with  better  grace  in  my  life,"  he 
said  to  her. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  cafe  in  the  German 
Building,  and  there  they  ate  and  drank  in  modest 
fashion,  while  he  expressed  his  gratitude  for  her 
guidance.  "I  owe  you  all  I've  got,"  he  de 
clared,  displaying  his  little  handful  of  money. 
"You've  shown  me  another  side  of  the  city's 
life.  It  isn't  so  bad,  this  wild  life  of  Chicago. 
We'll  come  again.  Will  you  come  again?"  He 
bent  a  frankly  pleading  gaze  upon  her. 

"Indeed  I  will.  I  love  it  here;  but  Aunt 
Louise  prefers  to  ride  about  in  the  car.  How 
ever,  you  haven't  seen  all  the  park  yet.  You 
must  see  the  prairies  at  the  south  end,  and  the 
Spanish  caravels,  the  convent — all  the  marine 
side  of  it.  Let's  walk  down  the  beach." 

He  was  glad  to  accept  her  guidance  in  this 
matter  also,  and  they  set  off  down  the  curving 
walk,  slowly,  as  if  they  found  each  new  rood  of 
ground  more  enjoyable  than  that  already  trav 
ersed.  He  had  a  feeling  that  nothing  so  sweet, 
so  perfect  as  this  day's  companionship  could  ever 
again  come  to  him,  and  he  lingered  over  each 
view  as  if  determined  to  extract  its  every  pos 
sible  phase  of  enjoyment,  and  when  two  paths 
presented  themselves,  he  shamelessly  advised 
12  165 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

taking  the  longer  one.  So  they  came  to  The  Old 
Convent,  to  The  Caravels  in  The  South  Lagoon, 
and  at  last  to  The  Sand  Hills.  This  was  the  cli 
max  of  their  walk.  These  dunes  were  so  different 
from  anything  he  had  ever  seen,  so  remote,  so 
suggestive,  and  so  flooded  with  the  light  of  his 
own  growing  romance,  that  they  seemed  of  an 
other  and  strangely  beautiful  land. 

Taking  seats  upon  the  grass  in  the  sunlight, 
which  was  just  warm  enough  to  be  delightful, 
they  absorbed  the  scene  in  silence,  entranced 
by  the  sails,  the  far  water-line,  the  sun,  the 
wind,  and  the  fluting  of  the  birds.  The  few  peo 
ple  who  drifted  by  were  unimportant  as  shad 
ows;  and  Leo  took  no  thought  of  time  till  a 
cloud  crossed  the  sun  and  the  wind  felt  suddenly 
chill;  then  she  rose.  "We  must  go  home,  or 
they'll  certainly  think  we've  gone  to  St.  Joe." 

He  returned  to  his  jocular  mood.  "If  I  had 
ten  dollars  I'd  ask  you  'why  not?" 

"I  wouldn't  consent  if  you  had  a  million." 

He  pretended  to  be  astonished.  "You  would 
not?  Why?" 

"Because  I  believe  in  the  pomp  and  circum 
stance  of  matrimony.  No  runaway  marriages 
for  me!  When  I  marry,  it  shall  be  in  a  vast 
cathedral,  with  a  mighty  organ  thundering  and 
a  long  procession  of  awed  and  shivering  brides 
maids." 

"I'm  sorry  your  tastes  run  in  that  way.  I 
don't,  at  this  time,  feel  able  to  gratify  them." 

1 66 


THE   LAW'S  DELAY 

"Nobody  asked  you,  sir,"  she  said;  then  look 
ing  about  her,  she  sighed  deeply.  "I  hate  to 
leave  this  place.  It  seems  as  though  it  could 
never  be  so  beautiful  again.  Haven't  we  had 
a  heavenly  day?" 

"1  dread  going  back  to  the  town,  for  then  my 
needs  and  all  my  life  problems  will  swarm. " 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  she  said,  sincerely. 

"You  can,"  he  earnestly  assured  her.  "If 
you  will  only  come  out  here  with  me  now  and 
again  I  shall  be  able  to  stand  a  whole  lot  of 
'grief.'" 

They  were  walking  westward  at  the  moment, 
past  the  golf-course,  and  a  sense  of  uneasiness 
filled  the  girl's  heart.  She  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  grave  face.  "I  don't  know  why,  but  I 
feel  an  impulse  to  hurry.  I  feel  as  though  we 
ought  to  get  home  as  quickly  as  possible.  They 
may  be  worried  about  us." 

He  did  not  share  her  apprehension.  "I  don't 
think  they'll  suffer." 

"Something  urges  me  to  run,"  she  repeated. 
"We  must  go  directly  home." 

He  quickened  his  step  with  hers,  responding 
to  the  anxiety  which  had  come  into  her  tone,  but 
experiencing  nothing  of  it  in  his  heart.  What 
he  did  feel  was  the  certainty  that  his  day  of 
careless  ease  was  over.  The  sky  seemed  sud 
denly  to  have  lost  its  brightness.  The  birds  had 
fallen  silent.  The  crowds  of  people  seemed  less 
festive.  The  world  of  work-worn  men  rolled 

167 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

back  upon  them  in  a  noisy  flood  as  they  caught 
a  car  and  went  speeding  down  the  squalid  avenue. 
Leo's  anxiety  seemed  to  increase  rather  than 
to  lessen  as  they  neared  her  home.  "There's 
been  some  accident!"  she  insisted.  "I  can't  tell 
what  it  is,  but  I  think  your  mother  has  been  hurt." 

He  could  not  believe  that  anything  serious  had 
happened  to  his  mother ;  but  when  they  alighted 
to  walk  across  the  boulevard  he  was  quite  as 
eager  to  reach  the  house  as  she. 

The  man  at  the  door  wore  an  expression  of 
well-governed  concern,  which  led  Leo  to  sharply 
ask:  "What  is  it,  Ferguson?  What  has  hap 
pened?" 

"They  have  taken  her,  Miss." 

"Taken?  Who?  What?  Who  have  taken 
her?" 

"The  bailiff,  Miss." 

"The  bailiff?" 

"Yes,  Miss,  the  officers  came  with  a  warrant 
just  as  Mrs.  Ollnee  was  sitting  down  to  luncheon, 
and  it  was  ever  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  get 
them  to  wait  till  she  had  finished.  Mrs.  Joyce 
has  gone  with  her." 

Leo  confronted  Victor  with  large  eyes.  "That 
was  the  precise  moment  when  I  had  my  sensation 
of  alarm." 

Victor  was  white  and  rigid  with  indignation. 
"Where  did  they  take  her?" 

"To  the  Bond  Street  Station,  sir.  You  are 
to  come  at  once." 

168 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

"How  do  I  get  there?" 

"I'll  show  you,"  volunteered  Leo.  "Is  the 
electric  out,  Ferguson?" 

"I  don't  think  so,  Miss." 

"Order  it  around  at  once."  She  turned  to 
Victor.  "Don't  worry.  Aunt  Louise  is  not 
easily  rattled.  She  is  able  to  command  all  the 
help  that  is  necessary.  She  will  have  her  own 
lawyer  and  will  see  that  everything  is  done  to 
shield  your  mother  from  harm." 

He  was  aching  with  remorseful  fear.  "Oh, 
if  we  had  not  stayed  so  long,"  he  groaned,  all 
the  beauty  and  charm  of  the  morning  swept 
away  by  a  wave  of  guilt.  "Only  think!  I  left 
the  house  without  a  word  of  greeting  to  her! 
Doesn't  it  show  that  there  is  no  peace  or  security 
for  either  of  us  so  long  as  we  remain  here?  I 
have  tried  twice  to  get  away  from  this,  and 


now — " 


The  electric  carriage  came  smoothly  to  the 
door,  and  Leo,  dismissing  the  driver,  motioned 
Victor  to  enter.  "I'll  drive,"  she  said;  and 
they  swept  out  of  the  gate  and  down  the  boule 
vard  as  if,  by  a  wafture  of  the  hand,  this  young 
girl  had  invoked  the  aid  of  an  Oriental  magician. 

The  run  was  easy  and  swift,  till  they  reached 
the  crowded  cross-street  which  led  westward  into 
the  city  deeps;  and  as  the  carts  thickened  and 
coarse  and  vicious  humanity  began  to  swarm 
Victor  was  moved  to  assert  the  man's  preroga 
tive.  He  resented  the  admiring  glances  which 

169 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

the  loafers  addressed  to  his  companion,  and  a 
feeling  of  awkward  helplessness  came  upon  him. 
"I  wish  you'd  let  me  run  this  car,"  he  said,  mo 
rosely. 

Slowly  they  felt  their  way  to  the  west,  straight 
on  toward  a  great  railway  depot,  with  Leo 
deftly  winding  her  way  amid  trucks  and  express 
wagons,  darting  past  clanging  street-cars,  and 
plowing  through  swarms  of  nondescript  men 
and  slattern  women,  till  at  last  she  halted  on  a 
crossing,  and,  leaning  from  the  window,  in 
quired  of  the  police  officer  the  way  to  the  Bond 
Street  Station. 

"Right  around  the  corner,  Miss,"  he  replied, 
with  a  smile,  pointing  the  way  with  his  club. 

She  turned  up  a  narrow  alley  which  ran 
parallel  with  the  great  domed  shed  of  the  rail 
way,  and  drew  up  before  an  ugly  doorway  in  a 
grimy  brick  building  of  depressing  architecture. 

Victor  alighted  with  a  full  realization  of  hav 
ing  left  heaven  for  a  filthy,  squalid  hell.  The 
clang  and  hiss  of  engines  in  the  shed,  the  jar  of 
heavy  trucks,  the  cries  of  venders,  the  grind 
and  howl  of  cars,  the  sodden  stream  of  human 
kind,  deafened  and  appalled  him.  Neverthe 
less,  he  took  the  lead  into  the  gloomy  ante 
room  of  the  station,  which  was  half  filled  with 
officers  in  uniform  escorting  or  placidly  watch 
ing  dull-hued,  depressed,  and  unkempt  men  and 
women  in  arrest. 

On  inquiry  of  another  officer,  they  were  di- 
170 


THE   LAW'S  DELAY 

rected  to  the  door  of  a  long  hall,  which  was  in 
effect  a  tunnel.  "You'll  find  your  party  in  the 
court-room,"  the  officer  said. 

Victor  led  the  way  through  this  battered  hall 
way,  and  at  the  end  of  it  came  into  a  large,  bare 
room  lighted  with  dusty  windows  on  the  north. 
It  was  in  effect  a  hall  divided  in  halves  by  an  open 
railing.  In  the  eastern  end  of  the  chamber  the 
judge  was  seated  surrounded  by  his  clerks  exam 
ining  a  little  group  of  silent  men.  In  the  west 
ern  half  of  the  room,  outside  the  railing,  sat  a 
somber  and  motley  assemblage  of  negroes, 
Italians,  and  Greeks,  mostly  young,  each  pre 
senting  a  savage  and  sullen  face.  In  the  midst 
of  such  a  throng  of  miscreated  beings  Leo  seemed 
of  angelic  loveliness  and  purity. 

Before  the  crowd  became  aware  of  her,  the 
keen-eyed  girl  had  discovered  the  objects  of 
their  search.  "There  they  are,"  she  whispered, 
pointing  to  the  corner  at  the  judge's  right,  where 
Mrs.  Joyce  and  Mrs.  Ollnee  were  seated,  in  close 
conversation  with  a  dark,  smoothly-shaven  man 
of  middle  age.  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  she  added, 
"Mr.  Bartol  is  with  them." 

She  led  the  way,  quite  fearlessly,  through  the 
aisle  and  directly  up  to  the  gate,  where  she  was 
met  by  the  bailiff,  or  warden  of  the  room,  a 
sullen-faced,  sloppy  Irishman.  He  was  too 
keen-eyed  not  to  be  immediately  impressed  by 
her  beauty  and  something  strong  and  clear  and 
fine  in  her  glance,  but  before  he  had  time  to  ask 

171 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

her  what  she  wanted  the  gentleman  whom  she 
called  Bartol  came  forward,  and  at  his  touch 
the  officer  gave  way  respectfully,  and  the  two 
young  people  entered  the  inclosure. 

Mrs.  Ollnee  rose  upon  seeing  Victor,  and  lifted 
her  arms  to  his  neck.  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've 
come,"  she  murmured,  in  deep  relief. 

A  rustle  of  profound  interest  passed  over  the 
court-room,  and  such  shuffling  of  feet  and  mur 
mur  of  voices  arose  that  the  bailiff  rapped 
querulously  on  the  railing  with  the  handle  of 
his  mallet  and  glared,  in  a  vain  effort  to  restore 
silence.  Even  the  judge,  accustomed  as  he  was 
to  every  phase  of  the  human  comedy,  turned  a 
sympathetic  gaze  upon  the  girl.  He  was  a  mid 
dle-aged  man,  with  a  pale  and  sensitive  careworn 
face,  and  as  he  resumed  his  address  to  the  men 
before  him  his  gentle  voice  could  be  heard  above 
the  roar  of  the  street  in  grave  reprimand.  The 
sodden  convicts  who  stood  unshaved  and  spirit 
less  before  him  excited  his  pity  not  his  wrath. 

Victor  sat  down  beside  his  mother,  whispering, 
"What  is  it  all  about?" 

Mr.  Bartol  answered:  "Pettus,  the  president 
of  the  People's  Bank,  has  absconded;  the  bank 
is  closed,  and  your  mother  has  been  arrested  for 
complicity  in  his  frauds." 

Victor  understood  almost  instantly,  for  this 
was  exactly  what  Carew  had  warned  him  about 
on  the  night  of  his  first  dinner  in  Mrs.  Joyce's 
house.  "What  can  we  do?"  he  asked. 

172 


THE   LAW'S  DELAY 

1  'Leave  that  to  me,"  replied  Bartol.  "I  will 
see  that  your  mother  is  protected." 

As  they  sat  thus,  waiting,  while  the  judge  dis 
posed  of  a  wife-beating  case,  Victor  thought  of 
Altair  and  the  mournful  and  exquisite  smile 
with  which  she  had  greeted  him.  What  a 
frightful  gulf  gaped  between  these  savage  and 
bestial  men — these  sullen,  pinched,  grimy,  and 
malodorous  street-walkers,  these  sottish,  half- 
human  creatures,  torn  and  bloody  with  one  an 
other's  claws — and  the  celestial  vision  which  his 
mother,  by  some  inexplicable  necromancy,  had 
been  able  to  create  from  the  sunless  world  of 
her  magic!  What  a  measureless  stretch  lay  be 
tween  this  clamorous,  automatic,  pitiless  court 
(with  its  weary  judge)  and  the  sunny  bank  beside 
the  lagoon,  whereon  the  birds  were  singing  and 
where  he  and  Leo  had  so  lately  lain  to  gaze  on 
the  far  horizon  land  of  wedded  happiness  and  love ! 

Upon  his  musing  the  sounding  voice  of  the 
clerk  broke.  "  Thomas  Aiken  vs.  Lucile  Ollnee" 

Led  by  Mr.  Bartol,  Mrs.  Ollnee  and  Mrs.  Joyce 
moved  through  the  gate  and  stood  before  the 
judge,  while  from  the  right  the  complainant  and 
his  witnesses  and  his  lawyer  came  to  oppose 
them.  Victor  followed  his  mother  and  stood 
at  the  extreme  left,  with  Leo  by  his  side.  He 
had  no  care  of  what  the  miserable  spectators  in 
the  seats  would  think  of  them.  He  was  only 
concerned  with  the  judge  and  the  opposing 
counsel. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

Upon  the  motion  of  the  clerk,  the  bailiff  called 
out,  "Hold  up  your  hands,  everybody,"  and  so 
they  all,  including  even  Leo,  held  up  their 
right  hands  and  took  the  oath  that  what  they 
were  about  to  say  would  be  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so  help  them 
God. 

The  judge,  worn  by  the  ceaseless  stream  of 
diseased,  ineffectual,  and  halting  humanity  pass 
ing  daily  before  his  eyes,  gazed  in  surprise  and 
growing  interest  upon  this  group  of  handsome 
and  well-dressed  people  while  the  prosecuting  at 
torney  presented  the  claims  of  the  complaining 
witness,  charging  the  defendant  with  conspiring 
to  rob  or  defraud  one,  Mary  Aiken. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Aiken?"  asked  the  judge. 

"She  is  too  ill  to  appear,  your  honor,"  replied 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  ' '  but  her  granddaugh 
ter  is  here  prepared  to  give  in  detail  the  story 
of  how  the  defendant,  who  professes  to  be  a 
medium,  induced  her  aged  and  infirm  grand 
mother  to  withdraw  her  money  from  certain 
investments  in  her  native  town  and  put  them 
into  the  hands  of  another — namely,  the  ab 
sconding  president  of  the  People's  Bank,  there 
by  impoverishing  her.  Thomas  Aiken,  the  com 
plainant,  charges  that  the  said  defendant,  Lucile 
Ollnee,  has  by  her  uncanny  powers  obtained 
large  sums  of  money,  and  that  she  should  be 
punished  as  a  swindler." 

The  judge  studied  the  faces  of  the  witnesses 
174 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

before  him,  then  asked,  "What  have  you  to  say 
to  this,  Mrs.  Ollnee?" 

"It  is  false,"  she  replied. 

The  prosecution  put  in  a  word.  "You  will 
not  deny  that  you  advised  these  investments?" 

"I  advised  nothing,"  she  retorted.  "What 
my  controls  advised  I  only  know  in  a  general 
way." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  "controls'?"  inquired 
the  judge. 

"I  am  a  spirit  medium,  and  sometimes  a 
trance  medium,"  she  replied,  facing  him  steadily. 
"Those  whom  men  call  the  dead  speak  through 


me." 


"In  what  way?" 

"Partly  by  writing,  partly  by  means  of  voices." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  dead  speak  in 
voices  audible  to  others  than  yourself?" 

"Yes,  your  honor,  they  often  speak  so  loud 
that  any  one  may  hear  them.  For  the  most 
part  they  whisper." 

The  prosecution  again  struck  in.  "These 
voices  are  a  part  of  the  trick,  a  part  of  her  method 
of  luring  her  victims  on  to  do  her  will." 

The  judge  turned  to  the  complainant,  Thomas 
Aiken,  a  dark-faced,  sullen  young  man.  "Have 
you  heard  these  voices,  Mr.  Aiken?" 

"No,  sir;  I  never  had  a  seance;  but  my  sister 
has  had  a  number  of  interviews  with  this  woman. 
I  know  that  in  spite  of  the  advice  of  her  friends 
my  grandmother  has  been  induced  to  give  away 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

her  money  to  this  woman  and  to  that  scoundrel, 
Pettus.  We  have  been  robbed  by  her.  It 
amounts  to  that,  and  we  intend  to  stop  it." 

The  judge  turned  back  to  Mrs.  Ollnee.  "Do 
you  wish  to  be  tried  here  and  now  on  this 
charge?" 

Mr.  Bartol  interposed.  "No,  your  honor,  we 
do  not.  This  case  is  a  very  peculiar  one.  My 
client  is  a  lady,  as  you  may  see,  and  should  never 
have  been  brought  into  this  court  in  this  fashion. 
That  she  is  a  medium  is  probably  true;  but 
there  is  no  evidence  of  deceit  on  her  part.  She 
assures  me  of  her  absolute  faith  in  these  Voices, 
and  her  manner  carries  conviction.  Her  friends 
believe  in  her  also.  She  claims  to  be  nothing 
more  than  the  means  of  communication  between 
this  world  and  the  world  of  the  dead." 

The  judge  smiled  faintly.  "That  is  claiming 
a  good  deal — from  my  point  of  view.  What 
have  you  to  say  to  that?"  he  demanded,  turning 
again  to  the  complainants. 

A  clear,  low,  musical  voice,  the  voice  of  a 
young  woman,  answered,  "The  case  is  not  un 
common,  your  honor." 

Victor,  craning  his  head  forward,  found  him 
self  looking  directly  into  the  big,  intense  black 
eyes  of  the  girl  he  had  rebuffed  on  the  stairway 
the  first  day  of  his  stay.  She  was  vivid,  intense, 
and  very  indignant  as  she  .said  :  '  *  The  wom 
an  pretends  to  be  possessed  of  the  power  of 
communication  with  the  dead,  and  by  her  arts 

176 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

she  convinced  my  grandmother  that  her  dead 
husband  wished  the  withdrawal  of  her  money 
from  a  bank  in  Moline,  and  that  he  recommended 
its  investment  in  this  traction  company.  She 
played  remorselessly  upon  the  most  sacred  emo 
tions  of  my  poor  old  grandmother,  and  I  have 
evidence  to  prove  that  this  advice  has  been  a 
part  of  a  general  scheme  whereby  this  traction 
company,  a  fake  concern,  has  been  able  to  de 
lude  other  creduluous  souls." 

As  she  paused  her  lawyer  said,  wearily:  "It 
is  a  plain  case  of  swindling,  your  honor,  and  we 
desire  to  press  the  case  to  its  limit  at  once,  for 
Pettus  cannot  be  found,  and  we  fear  the  flight 
of  the  defendant." 

Mr.  Bartol  spoke  suavely.  "Your  honor,  it 
is  not  'a  plain  case  of  swindling/  Mrs.  Ollnee 
is  the  personal  friend  of  Mrs.  John  H.  Joyce, 
whose  name  you  know  very  well.  It  is  true  that 
messages  were  given  advising  the  investment  of 
funds  in  the  traction  company,  but  not  only  has 
this  advice  been  followed  by  Mrs.  Joyce,  but  by 
the  defendant  herself,  who  has  kept  all  her  own 
small  savings  in  the  same  bank." 

The  judge  turned  toMrs.Ollnee.   "Is  this  true  ?" 

"It  is,  your  honor." 

The  judge  spoke  to  Mrs.  Joyce.  "You  believe 
in  this  woman's  Voices?" 

"I  do." 

"Yet  they  have  advised  you  to  put  your  money 
into  the  hands  of  a  swindler." 

177 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"  Her  Voices  seem  to  have  done  this,  yes,  sir; 
but  she  herself  has  never  advised  in  any  way." 

"You  distinguish  between  the  Voices  of  your 
friend  and  her  own  personality,  do  you?" 

"I  do,  yes,  sir." 

The  prosecuting  attorney  inserted  a  sneering 
word.  "Your  honor,  Mrs.  Joyce  is  known  to 
be  credulous  and  under  the  influence  of  this 
trickster.  She  is  not  a  competent  witness.  She 
has  permitted  herself  to  be  deluded  to  the  point 
where  she  will  not  believe  anything  ill  of  her 
medium.  Thomas  Aiken  is  not  the  only  one 
ready  to  press  this  charge  against  the  defend 
ant.  Four  others  to  my  knowledge  stand  ready 
to  testify  to  this  woman's  uncanny  power  for 
deluding  and  defrauding.  My  client  finds  her 
self  stripped  of  her  little  fortune  and  helpless 
in  her  declining  years.  The  acting  of  this 
medium  is  criminal,  and  we  demand  that  she  be 
punished." 

The  judge  turned  his  musing  eyes  upon  Mrs. 
Ollnee's  pale  face.  "Have  you  anything  further 
to  say,  Mrs.  Ollnee?" 

"I  have  never  been  guilty  of  any  deception, 
your  honor.  I  claim  no  wisdom  for  myself.  If 
it  is  true  that  the  traction  company  is  a  fraud, 
then  it  must  be  that  lying  spirits  have  spoken 
impersonating  rny  husband  and  my  father." 

"That  is  a  subterfuge,"  interposed  the  young 
woman,  Miss  Aiken.  "She  is  responsible  for 
her  Voices." 

178 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

"You  accept  money  for  your  services,  do  you 
not?"  the  judge  asked  of  Mrs.  Ollnee. 

"Not  now,  no  sir." 

"Did  you  formerly?" 

"Yes,  sir,  after  my  husband  died,  I  was  forced 
to  do  so  in  order  to  educate  my  son." 

"Is  this  your  son?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  judge  addressed  himself  to  Victor.  "What 
do  you  know  of  your  mother's  power  as  a 
medium?  Do  you  share  her  faith?" 

Victor  felt  the  burning  eyes  of  the  angry  girl 
upon  him  as  he  replied:  "I  know  very  little 
about  it,  your  honor.  I  have  been  away  to 
school  ever  since  I  was  ten  years  old." 

"Mrs.  Joyce,  you  are  a  believer  in  Mrs.  Ollnee's 
powers?" 

"I  am,  a  firm  believer." 

"You've  had  no  reason  to  doubt  the  genuine 
ness  of  these  messages?" 

"Up  to  the  present  time  I  have  not." 

"You  will  lose  heavily  in  this  traction  swindle, 
if  it  is  a  swindle,  will  you  not?" 

"If  it  has  failed,  yes,  sir." 

"Does  that  shake  your  faith  in  the  medium?" 

"Not  in  the  slightest,  your  honor.  It  is  a 
well-known  fact  that  lying  spirits  sometimes 
interpose." 

During  this  interrogation,  which  had  pro 
ceeded  in  conversational  tone,  they  had  all  re 
mained  standing  before  the  judge,  whose  specu- 

179 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

lative  eyes  wandered  from  face  to  face  with 
growing  interest.  At  last  he  said  to  the  prose 
cuting  attorney:  "From  your  own  statement 
of  it,  this  case  is  not  to  be  tried  here.  I  do  not 
feel  myself  competent  at  this  time  to  pass  upon 
the  questions  involved." 

"She  shall  not  escape,"  said  Miss  Aiken,  with 
bitter  menace. 

Mr.  Bartol  interposed.  "We  demand  a  trial 
by  jury,  your  honor." 

"You  shall  have  it,"  responded  the  judge. 

The  Aikens  withdrew  sullenly,  and  the  bailiff 
indicated  that  the  defendant  and  her  party 
might  retire  to  an  inner  office  while  papers  were 
being  prepared;  and  this  they  did.  This  room 
proved  to  be  a  bare,  bleak  place,  with  benches 
and  yellow  wooden  chairs,  as  ugly  as  a  country 
railway  station,  wherein  a  few  officers  were  care 
lessly  lounging  about.  They  all  gazed  curiously 
at  Mrs.  Ollnee  and  Leo,  and  one  of  them  mut 
tered  to  the  other,  "It's  not  often  that  a  classy 
bunch  like  that  comes  into  court." 

The  indignity  of  it  all  caused  Leo  to  forget 
her  own  share  in  the  traction  company's  failure. 
"It  is  shameful  that  you  should  be  dragged 
here,"  she  said,  when  the  door  closed  behind 
them. 

"Leo!"  cried  Mrs.  Ollnee,  in  agonized  voice. 
"Do  you  realize  that  this  failure  means  almost 
as  much  of  a  loss  to  you  as  it  does  to  Louise?" 

This  affected  the  girl  only  for  an  instant, 
1 80 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

Then  she  loyally  said:  "Yes,  I  know.  But  I 
do  not  blame  you  for  it." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  turned  to  her  son.  "If  all  they 
say  is  true,  Victor,  we  are  the  victims  of  some 
lying  devils — " 

Leo  soothingly  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm.  * '  Let 
us  not  think  about  that  just  now.  Let  us  wait 
until  we  are  safely  out  of  this  dreadful  place." 

Victor  perceived  that  his  mother  was  shaken 
to  the  very  deeps  of  her  faith.  She  was  trem 
bling  with  excitement  and  weakness,  and  his 
anxiety  deepened  into  a  fear  that  she  might 
faint.  "There  are  devils  here,"  she  whispered. 
"I  feel  them  all  about  me — bestial,  horrible — 
take  me  away!" 

"Can't  we  go  now?"  he  asked  of  the  officer, 
who  seemed  to  have  an  eye  on  them.  "My 
mother  is  not  well." 

"Wait  till  the  bail  is  fixed  up,"  the  officer 
replied,  pleasantly  but  inexorably. 

They  remained  in  silence  till  Mrs.  Joyce  and 
Mr.  Bartol  appeared.  Then  Victor  hurried  his 
mother  out  into  the  street,  eager  to  escape  the 
desolating  air  of  this  moral  charnel-house.  It 
was  by  no  means  a  perfectly  pure  atmosphere 
without,  but  it  was  fresher  than  within,  and 
Mrs.  Ollnee  revived  almost  instantly.  "Oh, 
the  swarms  of  unclean  spirits  in  there!"  she  said, 
looking  back  with  a  face  of  horror. 

Mrs.  Joyce  put  her  into  the  car  with  Leo  and 
told  them  to  go  directly  home,  while  she,  with 
13  181 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Victor,  took  Mr.  Bartol  to  his  office.  Victor, 
stunned  by  the  new  and  crushing  blow  which 
had  fallen  upon  him,  turned  to  the  great  lawyer 
with  a  boy's  trust  and  admiration.  "What  can 
we  do?"  he  asked,  as  soon  as  they  had  taken 
their  seats  in  the  car. 

Mr.  Bartol  did  not  attempt  to  make  light  of 
the  case.  His  dark,  strong  face  was  very  grave 
as  he  answered:  "For  the  present  we  can  do 
very  little  beyond  getting  our  bearings.  It 
seems  to  me  at  the  moment  as  though  the  whole 
question  hinged  upon  the  possibility  of  dual 
personality,  and  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  have 
no  mind  upon  that  matter.  I  must  give  it  atten 
tion  before  I  can  reply.  Our  immediate  con 
cern  is  to  keep  your  mother  from  further  trouble 
and  assault.  If,  as  the  prosecution  stated,  there 
are  others  in  this  fight,  they  and  the  press  can 
make  it  very  unpleasant  for  you  all.  Miss  Flor 
ence  Aiken  has  a  powerful  and  vindictive  pen. 
She  will  not  cease  her  persecution — for  she  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  case." 

Mrs.  Joyce  turned  to  him  with  eager  face.  "I 
wish  you  would  invite  Mrs.  Ollnee  and  her  son 
up  to  your  farm  for  a  few  days." 

"I  do  so  with  pleasure.  I  am  going  up  to 
night  on  the  eight -o'clock  train,  and  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  have  them  go  with  me,  if  they  care 
to  do  so.  We  can  then  talk  the  whole  case  over 
at  our  leisure  and  in  quiet.  Perhaps  you  can 
run  up  and  stay  over  Sunday  with  us." 

182 


THE  LAW'S  DELAY 

"That  is  the  very  thing,"  she  responded;  "and 
I'm  very  grateful  to  you." 

Again  Victor  felt  himself  helpless,  whirling 
along  in  a  stream  of  alien  purpose  like  a  leaf  in 
a  mountain  torrent,  and  again  he  abandoned 
himself  to  its  sweep.  "I  will  do  anything  to 
get  away  from  here,"  he  replied. 

Mr.  Bartol  went  on :  "Your  mother's  case  will 
not  come  up  for  some  days,  and  the  rest  and 
quiet  of  the  farm  will  do  you  both  good."  To 
Mrs.  Joyce  he  added,  privately :  "The  whole  mat 
ter  interests  me  vastly.  I  don't  at  all  mind 
giving  some  time  to  it,  and,  besides,  I  like  the 
young  man." 

Mrs.  Joyce  dropped  the  lawyer  at  his  office 
door  and  sped  homeward  swiftly,  with  intent  to 
overtake  Leo.  She  did  not  attempt  to  conceal 
her  anxiety.  "The  truth  is,  Victor,  Pettus  and 
his  friends  called  into  our  circle  a  throng  of 
wicked,  deceiving  spirits.  They  were  not  what 
they  claimed  to  be.  They  were  cheats,  and  they 
have  almost  ruined  us.  Your  poor,  sweet 
mother  is  not  to  blame,  and  I  can't  blame  the 
Aikens.  What  I  cannot  understand  is  this — 
Why  did  your  father  and  his  band  permit  these 
treacherous  personalities  to  intervene?  Why 
did  they  not  defend  her  from  these  demons?" 

Victor  listened  to  her  with  a  complete  reversal 
to  disbelief  as  regards  his  mother's  mediumship. 
He  forgot  the  marvels  of  the  direct  writing,  the 
mighty  murmuring  wind,  the  dream-face  of 

183 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Altair;  all  these  insubstantial  and  evanescent 
perceptions  were  lost,  submerged  by  the  return 
ing  sea  of  his  doubt.  He  saw,  too,  that  Leo's 
faith  was  shaken.  He  felt  it  beneath  her  brave- 
spoken  words.  The  whole  question  of  the  proc 
ess,  as  well  as  the  content  of  the  messages,  was 
reopened  for  her.  His  situation  grew  ever 
darker.  His  way  was  again  blocked.  He  could 
not  leave  his  mother  to  her  fate,  and  yet  he 
could  not  see  his  way  to  earning  a  cent  of  money 
while  this  horrible  accusation  was  hanging  over 
her.  He  acknowledged,  too,  a  very  definite 
feeling  of  sympathy  with  those  who  had  been 
defrauded.  There  was  moral  indignation  in 
Miss  Aiken's  tremulous  eagerness  to  punish. 
"She's  not  to  blame,"  he  said.  "I'd  do  exactly 
as  she  is  doing  if  I  were  in  her  place." 


X 

A   VISIT   TO    HAZEL   GROVE 

BARTOL,  attended  by  porters  and  greeted 
by  conductors  and  brakemen,  led  the  way 
to  the  parlor-car  in  a  stern  abstraction,  which 
was  his  habit.  Victor  studied  him  closely  and 
with  growing  admiration.  He  was  not  tall,  but 
his  head  was  nobly  formed  and  his  broad  mask 
of  face  lion-like  in  its  somber  dreaming.  In 
repose  it  was  sad,  almost  bitter,  and  in  profile 
clear-cut  and  resolute.  His  dress  was  singularly 
tasteful  and  orderly,  with  nothing  of  the  careless 
celebrity  in  its  color  or  cut,  and  yet  no  one 
would  accuse  him  of  being  the  dandy.  He  was 
naturally  of  this  method,  and  gave  little  direct 
thought  to  toilet  or  dress. 

Mrs.  Ollnee  looked  upon  him  as  her  rescuer, 
one  who  had  snatched  her  from  loathsome  cap 
tivity;  but  his  manner  did  not  invite  repeated 
and  profuse  thanks.  With  a  few  words  of  polite 
explanation,  he  took  a  seat  behind  his  wards, 
unfolded  his  newspaper,  and  forgot  them  till 
the  conductor  came  through  the  car;  then  he 
remembered  them  and  paid  their  fares. 

185 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Mrs.  Ollnee  was  not  merely  awed  by  his  power 
ful  visage  and  searching  eyes ;  she  was  profoundly 
stirred  by  some  psychic  influence  which  ema 
nated  from  him.  She  whispered  to  Victor :  * '  He 
is  very  sad.  He  is  all  alone.  He  has  lost  his 
wife  and  both  his  children.  He  has  no  hope, 
and  often  feels  like  leaving  this  life." 

Victor  did  not  take  this  communication  as  a 
"psychometric  reading,"  for  he  had  been  able 
to  discern  almost  as  much  with  his  own  eyes, 
and,  besides,  all  of  its  definite  information  Mrs. 
Joyce  might  have  furnished;  but  his  mother 
added  something  that  startled  him.  She  said: 
"The  Voices  say,  'Obey  this  man;  study  him. 
He  will  raise  you  high!' ': 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "That  is  the 
way  I  hear  it.  I  hear  other  Voices — they  say  to 
me ,  '  Comfort  him . ' ' 

Victor  was  not  in  a  mood  for  "voices,"  and 
cut  her  short  by  asking  in  detail  about  her 
arrest.  "Who  came  for  you?  A  policeman?" 

"Yes,  but  not  in  uniform.  They  were  very 
nice  about  it.  At  first  I  was  terribly  frightened. 
I  was  afraid  I  should  have  to  go  in  the  patrol- 
wagon,  but  we  were  allowed  to  ride  in  the  car, 
the  policeman  sitting  with  the  driver — 

Victor  groaned.  "Oh,  mother,  why  did  you 
give  out  business  advice!" 

"I  gave  what  was  given  to  me,"  she  re 
sponded. 

1 86 


A  VISIT  TO   HAZEL  GROVE 

"Think  of  the  disgrace  of  being  in  that  court 
room!" 

"I   didn't   mind   the   disgrace,"    she   replied; 
'but  it  swarmed  with  horrible  spirits.     Each  one 
of  those  poor  criminals  had  a  cloud  of  other  base, 
distorted,  half -formed  creatures  hovering  about 
him.     It  was  like  being  in  a  cage  with  a  host  of 
obscene  bats  fluttering  about."     She  shuddered. 
' '  It  was  horrible !     It  was  a  sweet  relief  when  you 
and  Leo  came,  for  a  new  and  happy  band  came 
with  you.     You  helped  my  band  drive  away  the 
cloud  of  low  beings  that  oppressed  me;    and 
now  there  is  something  calming  and  serenely 
helpful  all  about  me.     It  comes  from  Mr.  Bartol. 
I  am  no  longer  afraid;    I  am  perfectly  serene." 
Victor  made  no  attempt  at  elucidating  her 
exact  meaning;   there  was  something  depressing 
to  him  in  this  continued  dependence  upon  spirit 
guidance,  a  guidance  that  had  led  them  into  so 
much  trouble   and   discredit.      He   sat   by  the 
window,  watching  the  faintly-outlined   moonlit 
landscape  flowing  past,  feeling  himself  to  be  a 
very  small  insect  riding  on  the  chariot  of  the 
king  of  tempests,  with  no  power  to  check  the 
speed  or  direct  the  course  of  his  inflexible  driver. 
His  own  future  was  but  a  flutter  of  vague  shad 
ows,  his  boyhood  a  serene,  sun-warm  meadow, 
now  swiftly  receding  into  the  darkness  of  night. 
Would  anything  so  beautiful  ever  come  again? 
His  mother,  sitting  as  if  entranced,  was  look 
ing  down  at  her  folded  hands,  her  brow  unlined; 

187 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

but  a  plaintive  droop  in  the  lines  of  her  sensitive 
mouth  told  that  she  was  wearied  and  secretly 
disheartened. 

''Poor  little  mother!"  he  said,  laying  a  hand 
on  her  arm,  "you  are  tired." 

The  tears  came  to  her  eyes,  but  she  smiled 
back  radiantly.  "I  don't  care  what  conies,  if 
only  you  believe  in  me,"  she  said,  simply;  and 
he  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  pressed  it 
like  a  lover. 

At  last  Mr.  Bartol  folded  his  paper  and  put 
away  his  glasses.  "Well,  we  are  nearing  Hazel 
Grove,"  he  announced,  smilingly.  "It's  only  a 
little  village,  a  meeting  of  cross-roads,  but  I 
think  you'll  like  the  country;  it's  the  fine  old 
rolling  prairie  of  which  you've  heard." 

The  moon  was  riding  high  as  they  alighted 
from  the  coach  upon  the  platform  of  a  low, 
wooden  station  in  the  midst  of  green  fields.  A 
clump  of  trees,  and  the  lights  in  dimly  discerned 
houses,  gave  only  a  faint  suggestion  of  a  town; 
but  an  open  carriage  was  waiting  for  them,  and 
entering  this,  they  were  driven  away  into  the 
most  delicious  and  fragrant  silence. 

Instantly  the  last  trace  of  Victor's  anger  and 
unrest  fell  away  from  him.  Of  this  simple 
quality  had  been  the  scenes  of  his  life  at  school. 
In  such  peace  and  serenity  his  earlier  years  had 
been  spent;  indeed,  all  his  life,  save  for  the 
few  tumultuous  days  in  the  city — and  he  was 
immediately  restored  and  comforted  by  the 

188 


A  VISIT  TO   HAZEL  GROVE 

sounds,  sights,  and  odors  of  the  superb  spring 
night. 

"Isn't  it  glorious!"  he  cried.  "I  feel  as  if  I 
were  reaching  God's  country  again." 

The  swiftly  stepping  horses  whirled  them  up 
the  street  through  a  bunch  of  squat  buildings 
and  out  along  a  gently  rising  lane  to  the  south. 
Ten  minutes  later  the  driver  turned  into  a  large, 
tree-shaded  drive,  and  over  a  curving  graveled 
drive  approached  a  spreading  white  house,  whose 
porticos  shone  pleasantly  in  the  moonlight.  A 
row  of  lighted  windows  glowed  with  hospitable 
intent,  and  tall  vases  of  flowers  showed  dimly. 

"Here  we  are!"  called  Mr.  Bartol,  with  genial 
cordiality.  *  *  Welcome  to  Hazeldean . ' ' 

To  dismount  before  this  wide  porch  in  the 
midst  of  the  small  innumerable  voices  of  the 
night  was  like  living  out  some  delicious  romance. 
To  come  to  it  from  the  reek  and  threat  of  the 
court-room  made  its  serene  expanse  a  heavenly 
refuge,  and  the  beleaguered  mother  paused  for 
a  moment  at  the  door  to  look  back  upon  the 
lawn,  where  opulent  elms  and  maples  dreamed 
in  the  odorless  gloom.  "I  have  never  seen  any 
thing  so  peaceful,"  she  breathed.  ' '  Only  heavenly 
souls  inhabit  here." 

The  interior  was  equally  restful  and  reassur 
ing.  Large  rooms  with  simple  and  substantial 
furnishings  led  away  from  a  short  entrance  hall. 
The  ceilings  were  low  and  dark,  and  the  lamps 
shaded.  Books  were  everywhere  to  be  seen, 

189  ' 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

many  of  them  piled  carelessly  convenient  to 
lights  and  chairs,  as  if  it  were  both  library  and 
living-room. 

The  first  word  Victor  spoke  related  to  the 
books,  and  Mr.  Bartol  replied  with  a  smile. 

"They  are  not  especially  well  chosen.  I  fear 
you'll  find  them  a  mixed  lot.  I  read  nothing  but 
law  in  the  city — here  I  indulge  my  fancy.  You'll 
wonder  what  my  principle  of  selection  is,  and, 
if  you  ask  me,  I  must  answer — I  haven't  any. 
I  buy  whatever  commends  itself  to  me  at  the 
moment.  One  thing  leads  to  another — romance 
to  history,  history  to  poetry,  poetry  to  the  drama, 
and  so  on."  He  greeted  a  very  tidy  maid  who 
entered  the  room.  ' '  Good-evening,  Marie.  This 
is  Mrs.  Ollnee,  and  this  is  her  son,  Mr.  Victor 
Ollnee.  Please  see  that  they  are  made  com 
fortable."  Then  again  to  his  guests.  "You 
must  be  tired." 

"I  am  so,  Mr.  Bartol,"  replied  Mrs.  Ollnee, 
"and  if  you'll  pardon  me  I'll  go  to  my  room." 

"Certainly — and  you  may  go,  too,  if  you  feel 
like  it,"  he  said  to  Victor. 

"I  am  not  sleepy,"  replied  Victor. 

"Very  well,"  replied  his  host.  "Be  seated 
and  we'll  discuss  the  situation  for  a  few  minutes." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  corner  where  two  wide 
windows  opening  on  the  lawn  made  delicious 
mingling  of  night  air  and  study  light,  and  offer 
ing  his  guest  a  cigar,  took  a  seat,  saying:  "I 
run  out  here  whenever  the  city  becomes  a  burden. 

190 


A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 

I  find  I  need  just  such  a  corrective  to  the  intense 
life  of  the  city.  It  is  my  rule  to  give  no  thought 
to  legal  troubles  while  I  am  here;  hence  the 
absence  of  codes  and  all  legal  literature.  You 
are  a  college  man,  Mrs.  Joyce  tells  me." 

"I  was  at  Winona  last  Saturday,  and  ex 
pected  to  stay  there  till  June,  when  I  was  due 
to  graduate.  Then  the  devil  broke  loose,  and 
here  I  am.  When  will  my  mother's  case  come 
up?" 

"Not  for  some  weeks,  I  fear.  If  you  wish  to 
return  to  your  studies  we  can  arrange  that." 

"No.  I'm  done  with  school.  I'm  only  wor 
ried  about  my  mother.  What  do  you  think  of 
her  case,  Mr.  Bartol?" 

"I'm  not  informed  sufficiently  to  say,"  he 
replied,  slowly.  "The  whole  subject  of  hypnotic 
control  seems  to  be  involved.  I  must  know 
more  of  your  mother  before  I  can  even  hazard 
an  opinion.  The  theories  of  suggestion  are  all 
rather  vague  to  me.  I  have  only  what  might 
be  called  a  newspaper  knowledge  of  them;  but 
I  have  some  information  as  to  your  mother's 
profession  I  gained  from  my  friend  Mrs.  Joyce, 
so  that  I  am  not  entirely  uninformed.  Besides, 
it  is  a  lawyer's  business  to  know  everything,  and 
I  shall  at  once  proceed  to  bore  into  the  subject." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  returning  brought  him  to  his  feet 
in  graceful  acknowledgment  of  her  sex,  and 
placing  a  chair  for  her,  he  said,  "I  hope  you 
don't  mind  tobacco." 

191 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  quite  as  graciously. 

He  placed  a  chair  for  her  so  that  the  light 
fell  upon  her  face,  and  she  knew  that  he  intended 
to  study  her  as  if  she  were  a  page  of  strange 
text. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it  here,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  her  repeated  admiration  of  his  home,  "for  I 
suspect  you'll  have  to  stay  here  for  the  present. 
The  city  is  passing  through  one  of  those  moral 
paroxysms  which  come  once  in  a  year  or  two. 
Last  year  it  was  the  social  evil ;  just  now  it  con 
cerns  itself  with  what  the  reformers  are  pleased 
to  call  'the  occult  fakers.'  The  feeling  of  a  jury 
would  be  against  you  at  present,  and  as  I  have 
promised  Mrs.  Joyce  to  take  charge  of  your 
defense,  I  think  it  well  for  you  to  go  into  retire 
ment  here  while  I  take  time  to  inform  myself 
of  the  case.' 

"I  do  not  like  to  trouble  you." 

"It  is  no  trouble,  my  dear  madam.  Here  is 
this  big  home,  empty  and  completely  manned. 
A  couple  of  guests,  especially  a  hearty  young 
man,  will  be  a  godsend  to  my  cook.  She  com 
plains  of  not  having  men  to  feed.  Don't  let  any 
question  of  expense  to  me  trouble  you." 

"Thank  you  most  deeply." 

"Don't  thank  me;  thank  Louise  Joyce,  who  is 
both  client  and  friend,  and  the  one  to  whom  I 
owe  this  pleasure."  He  bowed.  ' '  I  never  before 
had  the  opportunity  of  entertaining  a  'psychic,' 
and  I  welcome  the  opportunity." 

192 


A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 

She  did  not  quite  know  how  to  take  him,  and 
neither  did  Victor;  and  perceiving  that  doubt, 
Bartol  added:  "I  am  quite  sincere  in  all  this. 
I  hear  a  good  deal,  obscurely,  of  this  curious  phase 
of  human  life,  but  never  before  have  I  been  con 
fronted  by  one  who  claims  the  power  of  divina 
tion." 

11  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  do  not  claim  such  power." 

"Do  you  not!  I  thought  that  was  precisely 
your  claim." 

4 'No,  sir,  I  am  a  medium.  I  report  what  is 
given  to  me.  I  divine  nothing  of  myself.  I 
am  an  instrument  through  which  those  whom 
men  call  'the  dead'  speak." 

"I  see,"  he  mused.  "I  will  not  deceive  you," 
he  began  again,  very  gravely.  "This  charge 
against  you  is  likely  to  prove  serious,  and  you 
must  be  quite  frank  with  me.  I  may  require  a 
test  of  your  powers." 

"I  am  at  your  service,  sir.  Make  any  test  of 
me  you  please — this  moment  if  you  like." 

"I  will  not  require  anything  of  you  to-night. 
Writers  tell  me  that  'mediums'  are  a  dark, 
elusive,  and  uncanny  set,  Mrs.  Ollnee,  and  I 
must  confess  that  you  upset  my  preconceptions." 

"There  are  all  kinds  of  mediums,  as  there  are 
all  kinds  of  lawyers,  Mr.  Bartol.  I  am  human, 
like  the  others." 

"If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  take  up  your 
defense  along  the  lines  of  hypnotic  control  on 
the  part  of  this  man  Pettus." 

193 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

"I  cannot  presume  to  advise  you,  sir,  but 
you  must  know  that  to  me  these  Voices  come 
from  the  spirit  world.  I  am  the  transmitter 
merely — for  instance,  at  this  moment  I  hear  a 
Voice  and  I  see  behind  you  the  form  of  a  lady, 
a  lovely  young  woman — " 

"Mother!"  called  Victor,  warningly.  "Don't 
start  in  on  that!" 

"Proceed,"  said  Bartol;  "I  am  interested." 

The  psychic,  leaning  forward  slightly,  fixed 
her  wide,  deep-blue  eyes  upon  him.  "The  maid 
conducted  me  to  the  room  which  had  been  your 
wife's,  but  I  could  not  stay  there.  This  lady 
who  stands  beside  you  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
led  me  away  to  another  room.  She  is  nodding 
at  me  now." 

"Do  you  mean  the  maid  led  you  from  the  room  ? ' ' 

"No,  I  mean  the  spirit  now  standing  behind 
you  led  me  here.  She  says  her  name  is  Margaret 
Bartol.  She  said:  'Comfort  my  dear  husband. 
Restore  his  faith.'  She  is  smiling  at  me.  She 
wants  me  to  go  on." 

Bartol's  face  remained  inscrutably  calm. 
"Where  does  the  form  seem  to  be?" 

"At  your  right  shoulder.  She  says,  'Tell  him 
Walter  and  Hattie  are  both  with  me.'  She  listened 
a  moment.  She  says,  'Tell  him  Walter's  mind 
is  perfectly  clear  now.' ''' 

Victor  thought  he  saw  the  lawyer  start  in 
surprise,  but  his  voice  was  cold  as  he  said,  "Go 


on." 


194 


A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 

"She  says:  'Tell  him  ike  way  is  open.  I  am 
here.  Ask  him  to  speak  to  me" 

Bartol  then  spoke,  but  his  tone  plainly  showed 
that  he  was  testing  his  client's  hallucination  and 
not  addressing  himself  to  the  imaginary  ghost. 
"Are  you  there,  Margaret?" 

"Yes"  came  the  answer,  clearly  though 
faintly. 

The  renowned  lawyer  gazed  at  the  medium 
with  eyes  that  burned  deep,  and  presently  he 
asked,  "What  have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

Again  came  the  clear,  silvery  whisper :  ' '  Much. 
Trust  the  medium.  She  will  comfort  you." 

Victor  thrilled  to  the  importance  of  this  mo 
ment,  and  much  as  he  feared  for  his  mother's 
success,  he  could  not  but  admire  the  courage 
which  blazed  in  her  steady  eyes.  She  was  no 
longer  afraid  of  this  mighty  man  of  the  law,  to 
whom  heaven  and  hell  were  obsolete  words. 
She  was  panoplied  with  the  magic  and  mystery 
of  death,  and  waited  calmly  for  him  to  continue. 

At  last  he  said:    "Go  on.     I  am  listening." 

Again  through  the  flower-scented,  silent  room 
the  sibilant  voice  stole  its  way.  "Father." 

"Who  is  speaking?" 

"Margaret" 

"Margaret?    What  Margaret?" 

"Your  'rascal'  Peggy" 

Bartol  certainly  started  at  this  reply,  which 
conveyed  an  expression  of  mirth,  but  his  ques 
tions  continued  formal. 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"What  is  your  will  with  me?" 

"Mamma  is  here — and  Walter." 

"Can  they  speak?" 

"They  will  try." 

Again  silence  fell  upon  the  room — a  silence  so 
profound  that  every  insect's  stir  was  a  rude 
interruption.  At  length  another  whisper,  clear 
er,  louder,  made  itself  heard:  "Alexander,  be 
happy.  I  live" 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Your  wife" 

"You  say  so.     Can  you  prove  your  identity?" 

The  whisper  grew  fainter.  "/  will  try.  It  is 
hard.  Good-by" 

Bartol  raised  his  hand  to  his  head  with  a 
gesture  of  surprise.  "I  thought  I  felt  a  touch 
on  my  hair." 

"The  lady  touched  you  as  she  passed  away," 
Mrs.  Ollnee  explained.  "She  has  gone.  They 
are  all  gone  now." 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  in  polite  disappoint 
ment.  "I  wanted  to  pursue  the  interrogation. 
Is  this  the  usual  method  of  your  communica 
tions?" 

"This  is  one  way.  They  write  sometimes,  and 
sometimes  they  speak  through  a  megaphone; 
sometimes  they  materialize  a  face  or  a  hand." 

He  remained  in  profound  thought  for  a  few 
moments,  then  starting  up,  spoke  with  decision: 
"You  are  tired.  Go  to  bed.  We'll  have  plenty 
of  time  to  take  up  these  matters  to-morrow. 

196 


A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 

Please  feel  at  home  here  and  stay  as  long  as 
you  wish." 

A  little  later  he  took  Victor  to  his  room,  and 
as  they  stood  there  he  remarked,  "Of  course,  all 
this  may  be  and  probably  is  mind-reading  and 
ventriloquism — subconscious,  of  course." 

"But  the  writing,"  said  Victor.  "You  must 
see  that.  That  is  the  weirdest  thing  she  does. 
It  is  baffling." 

''My  boy,  the  whole  universe  is  baffling  to  me," 
his  host  replied,  and  into  his  voice  came  that 
tone  of  tragic  weariness  which  affected  the  youth 
like  a  strain  of  solemn  music.  "The  older  I 
grow  the  more  senseless,  hopelessly  senseless, 
human  life  appears;  but  I  must  not  say  such 
things  to  you.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  responded  Victor,  with  swell 
ing  throat.  "We  owe  you  a  great  deal." 

"Don't  speak  of  it!"  the  lawyer  commanded, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Victor  dropped  into  a  chair.  What  a  day  this 
had  been!  Within  twenty-four  hours  he  had 
seen  and  loved  the  dream-face  of  Altair  and 
had  been  blown  upon  by  the  winds  from  the 
vast  chill  and  empty  regions  of  space.  He  had 
resented  Leo's  voice  in  the  night,  but  had  re 
turned  to  her  in  the  light  of  the  morning.  On 
the  dreamy  lagoon  he  had  been  her  lover  again, 
pulling  at  the  oar  with  savage  joy,  and  on  the 
grass  in  the  sunlight  he  had  been  the  man  un 
afraid  and  victorious.  Then  came  the  hurried 
14  197 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

return,  the  visit  to  the  court,  the  rescue  of  his 
mother — and  here  now  he  lay  in  the  charity  bed 
of  his  mother's  lawyer!  "Truly  I  am  being 
hurried,"  he  said;  and  recalling  Miss  Aiken's 
final  menacing  remark,  he  added:  "And  if  that 
girl  and  her  brother  can  do  it  mother  will  be  sent 
to  prison."  Much  as  he  feared  these  accusing 
witnesses,  he  acknowledged  a  kind  of  fierce  beauty 
in  Florence  Aiken's  face. 

As  he  lay  thus,  thinking  deeply  yet  drowsily 
upon  his  problems,  he  heard  a  faint  ticking 
sound  beneath  his  head.  It  was  too  regular  and 
persistent  to  be  a  chance  creaking  of  the  cloth, 
and  he  rose  and  shook  the  pillow  to  dislodge  the 
insect  which  he  imagined  might  have  flown  in 
at  the  window. 

The  ticking  continued.  "I  wonder  if  that  is 
a  fly?" 

The  ticking  seemed  to  reply,  "No,"  by  means 
of  one  decided  rap.  To  test  it,  he  asked,  "Are 
you  a  spirit?" 

The  tick  counted  one,  two,  three — "Yes." 

"Some  one  to  speak  to  me?" 

Tick,  tick,  tick— "Yes" 

The  answer  was  so  plainly  intelligent  that  the 
boy,  silent  with  amazement,  not  unmixed  with 
fear,  lay  for  a  few  minutes  in  puzzled  inaction. 
At  length  he  asked,  "Who  is  it— Father?" 

"Tick"— No. 

"Grandfather?" 

"AV 

198 


A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 

He  hesitated  before  asking  the  next  question. 
"Is  it  Altair?" 

"No." 

He  thought  again.     "Is  it  Walter  Bartol?" 

The  answer  was  joyously  instant.  "Yes,  yes, 
yes!" 

"Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me?" 

"Yes." 

"About  your  father?" 

"Yes." 

"Through  my  mother?" 

Now  came  one  of  those  baffling  changes.  The 
answer  was  faintly  slow,  "Tick,  tick,"  betray 
ing  uncertainty — and  succeeding  queries  elicited 
no  response. 

Victor,  excited  and  eager,  would  have  gone 
to  his  mother  for  aid  had  he  known  where  to 
find  her  room.  The  mood  for  marvels  was  upon 
him  now,  and  Altair  and  Margaret,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  impalpable  throng,  seemed  waiting 
in  the  dusk  and  silence  to  communicate  with 
him.  Hopelessly  wide  awake,  he  lay,  while  the 
big  clock  on  the  landing  rang  its  little  chime 
upon  the  quarter  hours,  but  no  further  sign 
was  given  him  of  the  presence  of  his  intangible 
visitor;  and  at  last  the  experience  of  the  day 
became  as  unsubstantial  as  his  dreams. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  cackling  of  fowls 
and  the  bleating  of  calves  and  lambs.  The  sun 
was  shining  through  the  leafy  top  of  a  tree  which 
lay  almost  against  his  window,  and  happy 

199 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

shadows  were  dancing  like  fairies  on  the  coverlet 
of  his  bed. 

"It  sounds  like  a  real  farm!"  he  drowsily  mur 
mured,  filled  with  the  peace  of  those  cries,  which 
typify  the  most  ancient  and  unchanging  parts  of 
tlae  cottager's  life. 

He  had  known  only  the  poetic  side  of  farm 
life.  He  had  seen  it,  heard  it,  tasted  it  only  as 
the  lad  out  for  a  holiday,  and  it  all  seemed  serene 
and  joyous  to  him.  To  his  mind  the  luxury  of 
quietly  dozing  to  the  music  of  a  barn-yard  was 
the  natural  habit  of  the  farmer.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  rise  till  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  host 
from  the  lawn  beneath  his  window. 

A  half  an  hour  later  he  found  Bartol  in  the 
barn-yard  surveying  a  span  of  colts  which  his 
farmer  was  leading  back  and  forth  before  him. 
They  were  lanky,  thin-necked  creatures,  but 
Victor  knew  enough  of  horses  to  perceive  in 
them  signs  of  a  famous  breed  of  trotters. 

"You  are  a  real  farmer,"  he  said,  as  he  came 
up  to  his  host. 

Bartol  seemed  pleased.  "I  made  it  pay  five 
per  cent,  last  year,"  he  responded,  with  pride. 
"Of  course  that  means  counting  in  my  time  as 
a  farmer,  and  not  as  a  lawyer.  How  did  you 
sleep?" 

"Pretty  well — when  I  got  at  it.  I  was  a  little 
excited  and  didn't  go  off  as  I  usually  do  when 
I  hit  the  pillow." 

"No  wonder!     I  had  a  restless  night  myself." 

200 


A  VISIT  TO  HAZEL  GROVE 

He  nodded  to  the  hostler.  "That  will  do,"  and 
turned  away.  "I  gave  a  great  deal  of  thought 
to  your  mother's  case.  The  fact  seems  to  be  that 
the  human  organism  is  a  great  deal  more  com 
plicated  than  we're  permitted  ourselves  to  admit, 
and  the  tendency  of  the  ordinary  man  is  to  make 
the  habitual  commonplace,  no  matter  how  pro 
foundly  mysterious  it  may  be  at  the  outset. 
Of  course  at  bottom  we  know  very  little  of  the 
most  familiar  phenomenon .  Why  does  fire  burn 
and  water  run  ?  No  one  really  knows." 

They  were  facing  the  drive,  which  curved  like 
a  lilac  ribbon  through  the  green  of  the  lawn,  and 
the  estate  to  Victor's  eyes  had  all  the  charm  of 
a  park  combined  with  the  suggestive  music  of 
a  farmstead. 

"It's  beautiful  here!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it,  and  I  hope  you  and  your 
mother  will  stay  till  we  have  put  you  both 
straight  with  the  world." 

"If  I  could  only  do  something  to  pay  my 
freight,  Mr.  Bartol.  I  feel  like  a  beggar  and  a 
fool  to  be  so  helpless.  I  was  not  expecting  to 
be  kicked  out  of  college,  and  I'm  pretty  well 
rattled,  I'll  confess." 

"You  keep  your  poise  notably,"  the  lawyer 
replied,  with  kindly  glance.  "To  be  so  sud 
denly  introduced  to  the  mystery  and  the  chi 
canery  of  the  world  would  bewilder  an  older 
and  less  emotional  man." 

They  breakfasted  in  a  big  room  filled  with  the 

201 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

sunlight.  Through  the  open  windows  the  scent 
of  snowy  flowers  drifted,  and  the  food  and  ser 
vice  were  of  a  sort  that  Victor  had  never  seen. 
A  big  grape-fruit,  filled  with  sugar  and  berries; 
corn-cakes,  crisp  and  golden;  bacon  delicately 
broiled,  together  with  eggs  (baked  in  little 
earthen  cups),  and  last  of  all,  coffee  of  such 
fragrance  that  it  seemed  to  vie  with  the  odor 
of  the  flowers  without.  Each  delicious  dish  was 
served  deftly,  quietly,  by  a  sweet-faced  maid, 
who  seemed  to  feel  a  filial  interest  in  her  master. 

The  service  was  a  revelation  of  the  perfection 
to  which  country  life  can  be  brought  by  one 
who  has  both  wealth  and  culture;  and  Victor 
wondered  that  any  one  could  be  sad  amid  such 
radiant  surroundings. 

"I  can't  see  why  you  ever  return  to  the  city," 
he  said,  with  conviction. 

Bartol  smiled.  "That's  the  perversity  of  our 
human  nature.  If  I  were  forced  to  live  here 
all  the  time  the  farm  might  pall  upon  me,  just 
as  if  all  seasons  were  spring.  As  it  is,  I  come 
back  to  it  from  the  turmoil  of  the  town  with 
never-cloying  appetite.  Per  contra,  these  maids 
and  my  farm-hands  find  a  visit  to  the  city  their 
keenest  delight.  To  them  the  parks  and  the 
artificial  ponds  are  more  beautiful  than  any 
thing  in  nature."  His  tone  changed.  "In 
truth,  I  live  on  and  do  my  work  more  from  force 
of  habit  than  from  zest.  So  far  as  I  can,  I  get 
back  to  the  simple  animal  existence,  where  sun 

202 


A  VISIT  TO   HAZEL  GROVE 

and  air  and  food  are  the  never-failing  pleasures. 
I  try  to  forget  that  I  am  a  pursuer  of  criminals. 
I  return  to  my  work  in  the  city,  as  I  say,  because 
it  helps  to  keep  my  appetite  for  the  rural  things. 
I  can't  afford  to  let  silence  and  green  trees  pall 
upon  me.  If  I  were  a  little  more  of  a  believer," 
he  smiled,  * '  I  would  say  that  you  and  your  mother 
had  been  sent  to  me,  for  of  late  I  have  been  in 
a  deeper  slough  of  despair  than  at  any  time 
since  the  death  of  my  wife.  I  am  curious  to 
see  how  all  this  is  going  to  affect  your  mother. 
She  may  find  it  very  lonely  here." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  she  will  not." 

"Well,  now,  I  must  be  off.  But  before  I  go 
I  will  show  you  the  catalogues  of  my  library; 
and  perhaps  I  can  bring  home  some  books  which 
will  bear  on  these  occult  subjects.  I  have  given 
orders  that  no  information  as  to  you  shall  go 
off  the  place;  and  your  mother  is  safe  here. 
You  may  read,  or  hoe  in  the  garden,  or  ride  a 
horse."  ' 

"I  wish  I  might  go  to  the  city  with  you." 

"My  judgment  is  against  it.  Stay  here  for  a 
few  days  till  we  see  which  way  the  wind  is  blow 
ing."  And  with  a  cheery  wave  of  his  hand  he 
drove  away,  leaving  Victor  on  the  porch  with 
the  feeling  of  being  marooned  on  an  island — a 
peaceful  and  beautiful  island,  but  an  island 
nevertheless. 


XI 


LOVE'S   TRANSLATION 


TO  tell  the  truth,  Victor  dreaded  being  left 
alone  with  his  mother  in  this  way.  He  was 
fully  aware  now  of  the  invisible  barrier  between 
them.  No  matter  what  explanation  was  finally 
offered,  she  could  never  be  the  same  to  him 
again,  for  whether  it  was  her  subconscious  self 
which  had  cunningly  lured  them  all  to  the  verge 
of  disaster,  or  some  uncontrollable  impulse  com 
ing  from  without,  in  the  light  any  explanation, 
she  was  no  longer  the  sweet,  gentle,  normal 
mother  he  had  hitherto  thought  her  to  be. 

It  was  not  a  question  of  being  in  possession  of 
strange  abilities,  it  was  a  question  of  being 
obsessed  by  some  diabolical  power — of  being 
the  prey  of  malignant  demons  avid  to  destroy. 

The  more  deeply  he  thought  upon  all  that  had 
come  to  him,  the  more  bewildered  he  became; 
and  to  avoid  this  tumult,  which  brought  no  re 
sult,  he  went  out  and  wandered  about  the  farm. 
His  experience  was  like  visiting  a  foreign  country, 
for  the  men  were  either  Swiss  or  German;  and 
the  walls  of  the  farm-yard  quite  as  un-American 

204 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

in  their  massiveness  and  their  formal  arrange 
ment — a  vivid  contrast  to  the  flimsy  structures 
of  the  neighboring  village.  The  servants  (that 
is  what  they  were,  servants)  treated  him  with 
the  trained  deference  of  those  who  for  genera 
tions  have  touched  their  caps  to  the  more  fortu 
nate  beings  of  the  earth,  and  these  signs  of  sub 
ordination  were  distinctly  soothing  to  the  youth's 
disturbed  condition  of  mind.  Instantly,  and 
without  effort,  he  assumed  the  air  of  the  young 
aristocrat  they  thought  him. 

He  strolled  down  the  road  to  the  village,  which 
was  a  collection  of  small  frame  cottages  in  neat 
lawns,  surrounding  a  few  general  stores  and 
a  greasy,  fly-specked  post-office.  Here  was  the 
unimaginative,  the  prosaic,  perfectly  embodied. 
Old  men,  bent  and  gray,  were  gossiping  from 
benches  and  boxes  under  the  awnings.  Clerks 
in  their  shirt -sleeves  were  lolling  over  counters. 
A  few  farmers'  teams  stood  at  the  iron  hitching- 
posts  with  drowsy,  low-hanging  heads.  Neither 
doubt  nor  dismay  nor  terror  had  footing  here. 
The  majesty  of  dawn,  the  mystery  of  midnight, 
did  not  touch  these  peaceful  and  phlegmatic 
souls.  The  spirit  of  man  was  to  them  less  than 
an  abstraction  and  the  tumult  of  the  city  a  far- 
off  roar  as  of  distant  cataracts. 

Furthermore,  these  matter-of-fact  folk  had 
abundant  curiosity  and  no  reverence,  and  they 
all  stared  at  Victor  with  round,  absorbent  gaze, 
as  if  with  candid  intent  to  take  full  invoice  of 

205 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

his  clothing,  and  to  know  him  again  in  any  dis 
guise.  He  heard  them  say,  one  after  the  other, 
as  he  passed  along,  "  Visitor  of  Bartol's,  I  guess." 
And  he  could  understand  that  this  explanation 
really  explained,  for  Bartol's  "Castle"  was  the 
resting-place  of  many  strange  birds  of  passage. 

Bartol  was,  indeed,  the  constant  marvel  of 
Hazel  Grove.  Why  had  he  bought  the  place? 
Why,  after  it  was  bought,  should  he  spend  so 
much  money  on  it  ?  And  finally,  why  should  he 
employ  "foreigners"?  These  were  a  few  of  the 
queries  which  were  put  and  answered  and  de 
bated  in  the  shade  of  the  furniture  store  and 
around  the  air-tight  store  of  the  grocery.  His 
farm  was  their  never-failing  wonder  tale.  The 
building  of  a  new  wall  was  an  excitement,  each 
whitewashing  of  a  picket  fence  an  event.  They 
knew  precisely  the  hour  of  departure  of  each 
blooded  ram  or  bull,  and  the  birth  of  each  colt 
was  discussed  as  if  another  son  and  heir  had 
come  to  the  owner. 

Naturally,  therefore,  all  visitors  to  "Hazel- 
dean"  came  in  for  study  and  comment — es 
pecially  because  it  was  well  known  that  Bartol 
stood  high  in  the  political  councils  of  the  party 
(was  indeed  mentioned  for  senator),  and  that 
his  guests  were  likely  to  be  "some  punkins"  in 
the  world.  "This  young  feller  is  liable  to  be 
the  son  of  one  of  his  millionaire  clients,"  was  the 
comment  of  the  patient  sitters.  "Husky  chap, 
ain't  he?" 

206 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

Feeling  something  of  this  comment,  and  sens 
ing  also  the  sleepy  materialism  of  the  inhabi 
tants,  Victor  regained  much  of  his  own  disbelief 
in  the  miraculous,  and  yet  just  to  that  degree 
did  the  pain  in  his  heart  increase,  for  it  made  of 
his  mother  something  so  monstrous  that  the 
conception  threatened  all  his  love  and  reverence 
for  her.  Pity  sprang  up  in  place  of  the  filial 
affection  he  had  once  known.  He  began  to 
make  new  excuses  for  her.  "It  must  be  that 
she  has  become  so  suggestible  that  every  sitter's 
mind  governs  her.  In  a  sense,  that  removes  her 
responsibility."  And  so  he  walked  back,  with 
all  his  pleasure  in  the  farm  and  village  eaten 
up  by  his  care. 

His  mother  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  porch, 
and  as  he  came  up,  asked  with  shining  face: 

"Isn't  this  heavenly,  Victor?" 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  he  replied,  but  with 
less  enthusiasm  than  she  expected. 

"To  think  that  yesterday  I  was  threatened 
with  the  prison,  and  now — this!  We  have  much 
to  thank  Mr.  Bartol  for." 

"That's  just  it,  mother.  What  claim  have  we 
on  this  big,  busy  man  ?  What  right  have  we  to 
sit  here?" 

The  brightness  of  her  face  dimmed  a  little, 
but  she  replied  bravely:  "I  have  always  paid 
my  way,  Victor,  and  I  am  sure  last  night's  mes 
sage  meant  much  to  Mr.  Bartol.  I  always  help 
people.  If  I  bring  back  a  belief  in  immortality 

207 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

do  I  not  make  fullest  recompense  to  my  host? 
My  gift  is  precious,  and  yet  I  cannot  sell  it — I 
can  only  give  it — and  so  when  I  am  offered  bed 
and  board  in  return  for  my  work  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  take  it.  The  kings  of  the  earth  are 
glad  to  honor  those  who,  like  myself,  have  the 
power  to  penetrate  the  veil." 

Never  before  had  she  ventured  upon  so  frank 
a  defense  of  her  vocation,  and  Victor  listened 
with  a  new  conception  of  her  powers.  As  she 
continued  she  took  on  dignity  and  quiet  force. 

"The  medium  gives  more  for  her  wages  than 
any  earthly  soul ;  and  when  you  consider  that  we 
make  the  grave  a  gateway  to  the  light,  that  our 
hands  part  the  veil  between  the  seen  and  the 
unseen,  then  you  will  see  that  our  gifts  are  not 
abnormal,  but  supernormal.  God  has  given  us 
these  powers  to  comfort  mankind,  to  afford  a 
new  revelation  to  the  world." 

"Why  didn't  you  make  me  a  medium?"  he 
asked,  thrusting  straight  at  her  heart.  "Why 
did  you  send  me  away  from  it  all  ?7> 

Her  eyes  fell,  her  voice  wavered.  "Because 
I  was  weak — an  earthly  mother.  My  selfish 
love  and  pride  overpowered  me.  I  could  not 
see  you  made  ashamed — and  besides  my  controls 
advised  it  for  the  time." 

He  took  a  seat  where  he  could  look  up  into 
her  face.  "Mother,  tell  me  this — haven't  you 
noticed  that  your  controls  generally  advise  the 
things  you  believe  in?" 

208 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

She  was  stung  by  his  question.  "Yes,  my 
son,  generally;  but  sometimes  they  drive  me 
into  ways  I  do  not  believe  in.  Often  they  are 
in  opposition  to  my  own  will." 

He  was  silenced  for  the  moment,  and  his  mind 
took  a  new  turn.  ' '  When  did  Altair  first  come  ?" 

"Soon  after  I  met  Leo.  She  came  with  Leo. 
She  attends  Leo." 

"Have  you  seen  her?" 

"No.  I  am  always  in  deepest  trance  when 
she  shows  herself.  I  hear  her  voice,  though." 

"Mother,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "if  Mr.  Bartol 
gets  us  out  of  this  scrape  will  you  go  away  with 
me  into  some  new  country  and  give  up  this 
business?" 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand,  Victor.  I 
can  no  more  escape  from  these  Voices  than  I 
can  run  away  from  my  own  shadow.  I  don't 
want  to  run  away.  I  love  the  thought  of  them. 
I  have  innumerable  sweet  friends  on  the  other 
side.  To  close  the  door  in  their  faces  would  be 
cruel.  It  would  leave  me  so  lonely  that  I 
should  never  smile  again." 

"Then  they  mean  more  to  you  than  I  do!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"No,  no!  I  don't  mean  that!"  she  passion 
ately  protested.  "You  mean  more  to  me  than 
all  the  earthly  things,  but  these  heavenly  hosts 
are  very  dear — besides,  I  shall  go  to  them  soon 
and  I  want  to  feel  sure  that  I  can  come  back  to 
you  when  I  have  put  aside  the  body.  I  fear 

209 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

now  that  our  separation  was  a  mistake.  In 
trying  to  shield  you  from  the  transient  disgrace 
of  being  a  medium's  son,  I  have  put  your  soul 
in  danger.  I  was  weak — I  own  it.  I  was  an 
earthly  mother.  I  wanted  my  boy  to  be  re 
spected  and  rich  and  happy  here  in  the  earth- 
life.  I  did  not  realize  the  danger  I  ran  of  being 
forever  separated  from  you  by  the  veil  of  death. 
Oh,  Victor,  you  must  promise  me  that  should 
I  pass  out  suddenly  you  will  try  to  keep  the 
spirit-way  open  between  us — will  you  promise 
this?" 

Strange  scene!  Strange  mother!  All  about 
them  the  orioles  were  whistling,  the  robins  chirp 
ing,  and  farther  away  the  beasts  of  the  barn 
yard  were  bawling  their  wants  in  cheerful  chorus, 
but  here  on  this  vine-shaded  porch  a  pale,  small 
woman  sought  a  compact  with  her  son  which 
should  outlast  the  grave  and  defy  time  and 
space. 

He  gave  his  word.  How  could  he  refuse  it? 
But  his  pledge  was  half-hearted,  his  eyes  full  of 
wavering.  It  irked  him  to  think  that  in  a  month 
of  bloom  and  passion,  a  world  of  sunny  romance, 
a  world  of  girls  and  all  the  sweet  delights  they 
conveyed  to  young  men,  he  should  be  forced  to 
discuss  matter  which  relates  to  the  charnel-house 
and  the  chill  shadow  of  the  tomb. 

He  rose  abruptly.  "Don't  let's  talk  of  this 
any  more.  Let's  go  for  a  walk.  Let's  visit 
the  garden," 

210 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

She  was  swifter  of  change  than  he.  She  could 
turn  from  the  air  of  the  "ghost-room  "  to  the  glory 
of  the  peacock  as  swiftly  as  a  mirror  reflects  its 
beam  of  light,  and  she  caught  a  delightful  respite 
from  the  flowers.  She  was  accustomed  to  the 
lavish  greenhouses  of  her  wealthy  patrons,  but 
here  was  something  that  delighted  her  more 
than  all  their  hotbeds.  Here  were  all  the  old- 
fashioned  out-of-door  plants  and  flowers,  the 
perennials  of  her  grandfather,  to  whom  hot 
houses  were  unknown.  This  Colonial  garden  was 
another  of  Bartol's  peculiarities.  He  had  no 
love  for  orchids,  or  any  exotic  or  forced  blooms. 
His  fancy  led  to  the  glorification  of  phloxes,  to 
the  ripening  of  lilacs,  and  to  the  preservation 
of  old-time  varieties  of  roses — plants  with  hu 
man  association  breathing  of  romance  and  sor 
row — hence  his  plots  were  filled  with  hardy  New 
England  roots  flourishing  in  the  richer  soils  of 
the  Western  prairies. 

These  colors,  scents,  and  forms  moved  Victor 
markedly,  for  the  reason  that  in  La  Crescent, 
as  a  child,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  visit  a 
gaunt  old  woman,  the  path  to  whose  door  led 
through  cinnamon  roses,  balsam,  tiger-lilies, 
sweet-william,  bachelor-buttons,  pinks,  holly 
hocks,  and  the  like — a  wonderland  to  him  then 
— a  strange  and  haunting  pleasure  now  as  he 
walked  these  graveled  ways  and  mingled  the 
memories  of  the  old  with  the  vivid  impressions  of 
the  new. 

211 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Back  to  the  house  they  came  at  last  to  lunch 
eon,  and  there,  sitting  in  the  beautiful  dining- 
room,  so  cool,  so  spacious,  so  singularly  tasteful 
in  every  detail,  they  gazed  upon  each  other  in 
a  delight  which  was  tinged  with  pain.  Such  per 
fection  of  appointment,  such  service,  all  for 
them  (two  beggars),  was  more  than  embarrass 
ing;  it  provoked  a  sense  of  guilt.  The  pretty, 
low-voiced,  soft-soled  maid  came  and  went, 
bringing  exquisite  food  in  the  daintiest  dishes 
(enough  food  for  six) ,  anticipating  every  want, 
like  the  fairy  of  the  story-books.  "Mother," 
said  the  youth,  "this  is  a  story!" 

Mrs.  Ollnee  was  accustomed  to  the  splendor  of 
Mrs.  Joyce's  house,  but  she  was  almost  as  much 
moved  as  Victor.  She  perceived  the  difference 
between  the  old-world  simplicity  of  this  flawless 
establishment  and  the  lavish,  tasteless  hos 
pitality  of  men  like  Pettus. 

Who  had  planned  and  organized  this  wide- 
walled,  low-toned  room,  this  marvelously  effec 
tive  cuisine?  How  was  it  possible  for  such  ser 
vice  to  go  on  during  the  master's  absence  with 
apparently  the  same  unerring  precision  of  detail  ? 

These  questions  remained  unanswered,  and 
they  rose  at  last  with  a  sense  of  having  been, 
for  the  moment  at  least,  in  the  seats  of  those  who 
command  the  earth  wisely. 

Hardly  were  they  returned  to  their  hammocks 
on  the  porch  when  a  swiftly  driven  car  turned 
in  at  the  gate. 

212 


LOVE'S   TRANSLATION 

"It  is  Louise!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ollnee. 

"And  Leo!"  added  Victor. 

With  streaming  veils  the  travelers  swept  up  to 
the  carriage  steps  covered  with  dust,  yet  smiling. 

"How  are  you?"  called  Mrs.  Joyce;  and  then 
with  true  motor  spirit,  addressed  the  driver: 
"What's  the  time,  Denis?" 

"Two  hours  and  ten  minutes  from  North 
Avenue." 

"Not  so  bad,  considering  the  roads." 

Leo  had  sprung  out  and  was  throwing  off  her 
cloak  and  veil.  "I  hope  we're  not  too  late  for 
luncheon.  Mr.  Bartol  has  the  best  cook,  and 
I'm  famished." 

Her  coming  swept  Victor  back  into  his  other 
and  normal  self,  and  he  took  charge  of  her  with 
a  mingling  of  reverence  and  audacity  which 
charmed  her.  He  went  out  into  the  dining-room 
with  her  and  sat  beside  her  while  she  ate.  "I 
hope  you're  going  to  stay,"  he  said,  earnestly. 

"Stay!  Of  course  we'll  stay.  It's  hot  as 
July  in  the  city — always  is  with  the  wind  from 
the  southwest.  Isn't  it  heavenly  out  here?" 

"Heavenly  is  the  word;  but  who  did  it? 
Who  organized  it?" 

"Mrs.  Bartol.  She  had  the  best  taste  of  any 
one — and  her  way  with  the  servants  was  be 
yond  imitation.  They  all  worship  her  memory." 

"I  can't  make  myself  believe  I  deserve  all 
this,"  he  said.  "Your  coming  puts  the  frosting 
on  my  bun." 

is  "3 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

It  was  as  if  some  new  and  utterly  different 
spirit,  or  band  of  them,  had  come  with  this 
glowing  girl.  She  radiated  the  vitality  and  the 
melody  of  youth.  Without  being  boisterous  or 
silly,  she  filled  the  house  with  laughter.  * '  There' s 
something  about  Hazeldean  that  always  makes 
me  happy.  I  don't  know  why,"  she  said. 

",You  make  all  who  inhabit  this  house  happy," 
said  Mrs.  Ollnee.  "I  can  hear  spirit  laughter 
echoing  to  yours." 

1  'Can  you?     Is  it  Margaret?" 

"Yes,  Margaret  and  Philip." 

Victor  did  not  smile;  on  the  contrary,  his  face 
darkened,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  changed  the  tone  of 
the  conversation  by  asking:  "Did  you  see  the 
paper  this  morning  ?  They  say  you  have  skipped 
to  join  Pettus."  This  seemed  so  funny  that  they 
all  laughed,  till  Victor  remembered  that  both  these 
women  had  lost  much  money  through  Pettus. 

Mrs.  Joyce  sobered,  too.  "The  Star  is  against 
you,  Lucy,  and  you  must  keep  dark  for  a  time. 
They  are  denouncing  you  as  a  traitor  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  Did  Paul,  or  any  one,  advise  you 
last  night?" 

"No,  nothing  was  said.  I  suppose  they  are 
considering  the  matter  also.  Those  deceiving 
spirits  must  be  hunted  out  and  driven  away." 

"I'm  going  to  lie  down  for  a  while,"  Mrs. 
Joyce  announced.  "My  old  waist -line  is  jolted 
a  bit  out  o'  plumb.  Leo,  will  you  stretch  out, 
too?" 

214 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

' '  No  indeed.  What  I  need  is  a  walk  or  a  game 
of  tennis.  I'm  cramped  from  sitting  so  long." 

So  it  fell  out  that  Victor  (penniless  youth, 
hedged  about  with  invisible  walls,  pikes,  and 
pitfalls)  was  soon  galloping  about  a  tennis  court 
in  the  glories  of  a  new  pair  of  flannel  trousers 
and  a  lovely  blue-striped  outing  shirt,  trying 
hard  not  to  win  every  game  from  a  very  good 
partner,  who  was  pouting  with  dismay  while 
admiring  his  skill. 

"It  isn't  right  for  any  one  to  'serve*  as  weird 
a  ball  as  you  do,"  she  protested.  "It's  like 
playing  with  loaded  dice.  I  begin  to  under 
stand  why  you  were  not  renowned  as  a  scholar." 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  so  bad!    I  stood  above  medium." 

"How  could  you?  It  must  have  taken  all 
your  time  to  learn  to  play  tennis  in  the  diabolical 
way  you  do — it's  conjury,  that's  what  it  is!" 

They  were  in  the  shade,  and  the  fresh  sweet 
wind,  heavy  with  the  scent  of  growing  corn  and 
wheat,  swept  steadily  over  the  court,  relieving 
it  from  heat,  and  Victor  clean  forgot  his  worri- 
ments.  This  girlish  figure  filled  his  eyes  with 
pictures  of  unforgetable  grace  and  charm.  The 
swing  of  her  skirts  as  she  leaped  for  the  ball,  the 
free  sweep  of  her  arm  (she  had  been  well  in 
structed),  and  the  lithe  bending  of  her  waist 
brought  the  lover's  sweet  unease.  When  they 
came  to  the  net  now  and  again,  he  studied  her 
fine  figure  with  frank  admiration.  "You  are 
a  corker!"  was  his  boyish  word  of  praise.  "I 

215 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

don't  go  up  against  many  men  who  play  the 
game  as  well  as  you  do.  Your  'form'  is  a  whole 
lot  better  than  mine.  I  am  a  bit  lucky,  I  admit. 
You  see,  I  studied  baseball  pitching,  and  I  know 
the  action  of  a  whirling  sphere.  I  curve  the 
ball — make  it  'break/  as  the  English  say.  I 
can  make  it  do  all  kinds  of  'stunts.' " 

"I  see  you  can,  and  I'll  thank  you  not  to  try 
any  new  ones,"  she  protested.  "Can  you  ride 
a  horse?" 

His  face  fell  a  bit.  "There  I  am  a  'mutt,'" 
he  confessed.  "I  never  was  on  a  horse  except 
the  wooden  one  in  the  Gym." 

"I'm  glad  I  can  beat  you  at  something,"  she 
said,  with  exultant  cruelty.  "I  know  you  can 


row." 


"Shall  we  try  another  set?"  he  asked. 

"Not  to-day,  thank  you.  My  self-respect  will 
not  stand  another  such  drubbing.  I'm  going 
in  for  a  cold  plunge.  After  that  you  may  read 
to  me  on  the  porch." 

"I'll  be  there  with  the  largest  tome  in  the 
library,"  he  replied. 

Mrs.  Joyce  stopped  him  as  he  was  going  up 
stair?  to  his  room.  "Victor,  don't  worry  about 
me.  While  it  looks  as  though  I  have  lost  a 
good  deal  of  money  through  Pettus,  I  am  by 
no  means  bankrupt.  I  am  just  about  where  I 
was  when  I  met  your  mother.  She  has  not  en 
riched  me — I  mean  The  Voices  have  not — neither 
have  they  impoverished  me.  It's  just  the  same 

216 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

with  Leo.  She's  almost  exactly  where  she  was 
when  she  came  East.  It  would  seem  as  if  they 
had  been  playing  with  us  just  to  show  us  how 
unsubstantial  earthly  possessions  are." 

There  was  a  certain  comfort  in  this  explana 
tion,  and  yet  the  fact  that  her  losses  had  not 
eaten  in  upon  her  original  capital  did  not  remove 
the  essential  charge  of  dishonesty  which  the 
man  Aiken  had  brought  against  the  ghostly 
advisers.  Florence  and  Thomas  Aiken  could  not 
afford  to  be  so  lenient.  They  were  disinherited, 
cheated  of  their  rightful  legacy,  by  the  lying 
spirits. 

He  was  anxious,  also,  to  know  just  how  deeply 
Leo  was  involved  in  the  People's  Bank;  and 
when  she  came  down  to  the  porch  he  led  her  to 
a  distant  chair  beside  a  hammock  .on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  house,  and  there,  with  a  book  in  his 
hand,  opened  his  interrogations. 

He  began  quite  formally,  and  with  a  well-laid- 
out  line  of  questions,  but  she  was  not  the  kind 
of  witness  to  permit  that.  She  broke  out  of  his 
boundaries  on  the  third  query,  and  laughingly 
refused  to  discuss  her  losses.  "I  am  holding  no 
one  but  myself  responsible,"  she  said.  "I  was 
greedy — I  couldn't  let  well  enough  alone,  that's 
all." 

"No,  that  is  not  all,"  he  insisted.  "My 
mother  is  charged  with  advising  people  to  put 
money  into  the  hands  of  a  swindler — " 

'•I  don't  believe  that.  I  think  she  was  honest 
217 


VICTOR   OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

in  believing  that   Pettus  would  enrich  us  all. 
She  was  deceived  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"But  what  becomes  of  the  infallible  Voices?" 

She  laughed.  "They  are  fallible,  that's  all. 
They  made  a  gross  blunder  in  Pettus." 

"Mr.  Bartol  suggests  that  my  mother  may 
have  been  hypnotized  by  Pettus  and  made  to 
work  his  will,  and  I  think  he's  right.  He  thinks 
the  whole  thing  comes  down  to  illusion — to 
hypnotic  control  and  telepathy." 

She  looked  thoughtful.  "I  had  a  stage  of  be 
lieving  that;  but  it  doesn't  explain  all,  it  only 
explains  a  small  part.  Does  it  explain  Altair  to 
you?" 

His  glance  fell.  "Nothing  explains  Altair— 
nor  that  moaning  wind — nor  the  writing  on 
the  slates." 

"And  the  letter — have  you  forgotten  that?" 

Half  an  hour  ago,  as  we  were  playing  tennis, 

I  had  forgotten  it.     I  was  cut  loose  from  the 

whole    blessed    mess — now    it    all    comes    back 

upon  me  like  a  cloud." 

"Oh,  don't  look  at  it  that  way.  That's  fool 
ish.  I  think  it's  glorious  fun,  this  investigating." 

He  acknowledged  her  rebuke,  but  added,  "It 
would  be  more  fun  if  the  person  under  the  grill 
were  not  one's  own  mother." 

"That's  true,"  she  admitted;  "and  yet,  I 
think  you  can  study  her  without  giving  offense. 
I  began  in  a  very  offensive  way — I  can  see  that 
now — but  she  met  my  test,  and  still  meets  every 

218 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

test  you  bring.  The  faith  she  represents  isn't 
going  to  have  its  heart  plucked  out  in  a  hurry, 
I  can  tell  you  that." 

"The  immediate  thing  is  to  defend  her  against 
this  man  Aiken.  Mr.  Bartol  said  he  would  order 
up  a  lot  of  books,  and  I'm  to  cram  for  the  trial. 
If  you  have  any  book  to  suggest,  I  wish  you'd 
write  its  title  down  for  me." 

"What's   the    use    of  going  to    books?     The 

judges  will  want  the  facts,  and  you'll  have  to 

convince  them  that  she  is  what  she  claims  to  be." 

"How  can  we  do  that?     We  can't  exhibit  her 

in  a  trance?" 

"You  might.  Perhaps  her  guides  will  give 
her  the  power."  She  glowed  with  anticipatory 
triumph.  "Imagine  her  confounding  the  jury! 
Wouldn't  that  be  dramatic!  It  would  be  like 
the  old-time  test  of  fire." 

He  was  radiant,  too,  for  a  moment,  over  the 
thought.  Then  his  face  grew  stern.  "Nothing 
like  that  is  going  to  happen.  She  would  fail,  and 
that  would  leave  us  in  worse  case  than  before. 
Our  only  hope  is  to  convince  the  jury  that  she 
is  not  responsible  for  what  her  Voices  say.  We've 
got  to  show  she's  auto-hypnotic." 
"I  hope  the  trial  will  come  soon." 
"So  do  I,  for  here  I  am  eating  somebody 
else's  food,  with  no  prospect  of  earning  a  cent 
or  finding  out  my  place  in  the  world.  I  don't 
know  just  what  my  mother's  idea  was  in  educat 
ing  me  in  classical  English  instead  of  some 

219 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

technical  course,  but  I'm  perfectly  certain  that 
I'm  the  most  helpless  mollusk  that  was  ever 
kicked  out  of  a  school." 

Real  bitterness  was  in  his  voice,  and  she  has 
tened  to  add  a  word  of  comfort.  "All  you  need 
is  a  chance  to  show  your  powers." 

"What  powers?"  , 

"Latent  powers,"  she  smiled.  We  are  all  sup 
posed  to  have  latent  powers.  I  am  seeking  a 
career,  too." 

He  forgot  himself  in  a  return  of  his  admira 
tion  of  her.  "Oh,  you  don't  have  to  seek.  A 
girl  like  you  has  her  career  all  cut  out  for  her." 

She  caught  his  meaning.  "That's  what  I  re 
sent.  Why  should  a  woman's  career  mean  only 
marriage?" 

"I  don't  know — I  guess  because  it's  the  most 
important  thing  for  her  to  do." 

"To  be  some  man's  household  drudge  or  pet?" 

"No,  to  be  some  man's  inspiration." 

"Fudge!  A  woman  is  never  anybody's  in 
spiration — after  she's  married." 

"How  cynical  you  are!    What  caused  it?" 

"Observing  my  married  friends." 

"Oh,  I  am  relieved!  I  was  afraid  it  was 
through  some  personal  experience — " 

This  seemed  funny  to  them  both,  and  they 
laughed  together.  "There's  nothing  of  'the 
maiden  with  reluctant  feet'  about  me,"  she  went 
on.  "I  simply  refuse  to  go  near  the  brink.  I 
find  men  stupid,  smelly,  and  coarse." 

220 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

"I  hate  girls  in  the  abstract — they  giggle  and 
whisper  behind  their  hands  and  make  mouths; 
but  there  is  one  girl  who  is  different."  He  tried 
to  be  very  significant  at  the  moment. 

She  ignored  his  clumsy  beginning  of  a  compli 
ment.  "All  the  girls  who  giggle  should  marry 
the  men  who  'crack  jokes' — that's  my  advice." 

"Tears  like  our  serious  conversation  is  strag 
gling  out  into  vituperation." 

" Whose  fault  is  it?" 

"Please  don't  force  me  to  say  it  was  not  my 
fault  .I'm  like  Lincoln — I  j  oke  to  hide  my  sorrows . ' ' 

"Don't  be  irreverent." 

Through  all  this  youthful  give  and  take  the 
boy  and  girl  were  studying  each  other  minutely, 
and  the  phrases  that  read  so  baldly  came  from 
their  lips  with  so  much  music,  so  much  of  hid 
den  meaning  (at  least  with  displayed  suggestion), 
that  each  was  tingling  with  the  revelation  of  it. 
The  words  of  youth  are  slight  in  content;  it  is 
the  accompanying  tone  that  carries  to  the  heart. 

She  recovered  first.  "Now  let's  stop  this 
school-boy  chatter — " 

"You  mean  school-girl  chatter." 

"Both.  Your  mother  is  in  a  very  serious 
predicament.  We  must  help  her." 

He  became  quite  serious.  "I  wish  you  would 
advise  me.  You  know  so  much  more  about  the 
whole  subject  than  I  do.  I'm  eager  to  get  to 
work  on  the  books.  I  suppose  it  is  too  much 
to  expect  that  they  will  come  up  to-day?" 

221 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"They  might.     I'll  go  and  inquire." 

"No  indeed,  let  me  go.  Am  I  not  an  inmate 
here?'1  He  disappeared  into  the  house,  leaving 
her  to  muse  on  his  face.  He  began  to  interest 
her,  this  passionate,  self-willed,  moody  youth. 
She  perceived  in  him  the  soul  of  the  conqueror. 
His  swift  change  of  temper,  his  union  of  sport- 
loving  boy  and  ambitious  man  made  him  as  in 
teresting  as  a  play.  "He'll  make  his  way/'  she 
decided,  using  the  vague  terms  of  prophecy  into 
which  a  girl  falls  when  regarding  the  future  of 
a  young  man.  It's  all  so  delightfully  mysterious, 
this  path  of  the  youth  who  makes  his  way  up 
ward  to  success. 

A  shout  announced  his  return,  and  looking 
up  she  perceived  him  bearing  down  upon  her 
with  an  armful  of  books. 

"Here  they  are!"  he  exulted.  "Red  ones,  blue 
ones,  brown  ones — which  shall  we  begin  on?" 

"Blue— that's  my  color." 

"Agreed!  Blue  it  is."  He  dumped  them  all 
down  on  the  wide,  swinging  couch  and  fell  to 
turning  them  over.  "Dark  blue  or  light  blue?" 

"Dark  blue." 

He  picked  up  a  fat  volume.  "Mysterious 
Psychic  Forces.  Know  this  tome?" 

"Oh  yes,  indeed!  It's  wonderfully  interest- 
ing." 

"I  choose  it!  This  color  scheme  simplifies 
things.  Now,  here's  another — The  Dual  Per 
sonality.  How's  that?" 

222 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

"Urn!     Well— pretty  good." 

" Dual  Personality  to  the  rear.  Here's  a 
brown  book — Metaphysical  Phenomena" 

"That's  a  good  one,  too." 

"I'm  sorry  they  didn't  bind  it  in  blue — and 
here's  a  measly,  yellow,  paper-bound  book  in 
some  foreign  language — Italian,  I  guess,  author, 
Morselli." 

"Oh,  that's  a  book  I  want  to  read.  Let  me 
take  it?" 

"Do  you  read  Italian?" 

"After  a  fashion." 

"Then  I  engage  you  at  once  to  translate  that 
book  to  me.  What  is  it  all  about?" 

He  abandoned  his  seat  on  the  couch  and  drew 
a  chair  close  to  hers.  "Begin  at  the  first  page 
and  read  very  slowly  all  the  way  through.  I 
wish  it  were  a  three  volume  edition." 

She  looked  at  him  with  side  glance.  "You're 
not  in  the  least  subtle." 

"I  intended  to  have  you  understand  that  I 
enjoy  the  thought  of  your  reading  to  me.  Did 
you  catch  it?" 

"I  caught  it.  No  one  else  ever  suggested  that 
I  was  stupid." 

"I  didn't  call  you  stupid.  I  think  you're 
haughty  and  domineering,  but  you're  not  stupid." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  demurely. 

Eventually  they  drew  together,  and  she  began 
to  read  the  marvelous  story  of  the  crucial  experi 
ments  which  Morselli  and  his  fellows  laid  upon 

223 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Eusapia  Palladino.  Two  hours  passed.  The 
robins  and  thrushes  began  their  evensong,  the 
shadows  lengthened  on  the  lawn,  and  still  these 
young  folk  remained  at  their  reading — Victor 
sitting  so  close  to  his  teacher's  side  that  his 
cheek  almost  touched  her  shoulder.  The  sun 
set  glory  of  the  material  world  was  forgotten  in 
the  tremendous  conceptions  called  up  by  the 
author  of  this  far-reaching  book. 

Sweeter  hours  of  study  Victor  never  had. 
Seeing  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  interpreter's  bosom 
and  catching  the  faint  perfume  of  her  hair,  he 
heard  but  vaguely  some  of  the  sentences,  and 
had  to  have  them  repeated,  what  time  her  eyes 
were  looking  straight  into  his.  At  such  mo 
ment  she  reminded  him  cf  the  dream-face  that 
had  bloomed  like  a  rose  in  the  black  night,  for 
she  was  then  very  grave.  Less  ardent  of  blood 
than  he,  she  succeeded  in  giving  her  whole  mind 
to  the  great  Italian's  thesis,  and  the  point  of 
view — so  new  and  so  bold — stirred  her  like  a 
trumpet. 

"I  like  this  man,"  she  said.  "He  is  not 
afraid." 

Once  or  twice  Mrs.  Joyce  looked  out  at  them, 
but  they  made  such  a  pretty  picture  she  had  not 
the  heart  to  disturb  them. 

At  seven  o'clock  she  was  forced  to  interrupt: 
"What  are  you  children  up  to?" 

"Improving  our  minds,"  answered  Leo.  "Are 
we  starting  back?  What  time  is  it?" 

224 


LOVE'S  TRANSLATION 

Mrs.  Joyce  smiled.  ''That  question  is  a  great 
compliment  to  your  company.  It's  dinner 
time." 

"Are  we  starting  now?" 

"No;  we're  going  to  stay  all  night." 

"Fine!"  shouted  Victor.  "I  was  wondering 
how  I  could  put  in  the  evening." 

"It's  time  to  dress,"  warned  Mrs.  Joyce. 
"This  is  no  happy-go-easy  establishment.  I 
never  saw  such  perfection  of  service  as  Alexander 
always  has.  I  can't  get  it,  or  if  I  get  it  I  can't 
keep  it;  while  here,  with  the  master  gone  half 
the  time,  the  wheels  go  like  a  chronometer." 

"It's  all  due  to  Marie.  She  worshiped  Mrs. 
Bartol,  and  she  venerates  Mr.  Bartol." 

Mrs.  Joyce  cut  her  short.  "Skurry  to  your 
room.  We  must  not  be  late." 

As  they  were  going  into  the  house  together, 
Leo  said:  "I  think  we  would  better  not  let  our 
elders  read  this  book  of  Morselli's.  It's  too  dis 
turbing  for  them — don't  you  think  so?" 

"It  certainly  is  a  twister.  However,  mother 
doesn't  read  any  foreign  language,  so  she's  safe." 


XII 

A   MOONLIGHT   CALL   AND   A   VISION 

UPON  rising  from  the  dinner  table  the  young 
people  returned  to  their  books,  and  at  ten 
o'clock  Leo  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  page.  "Did 
some  one  drive  up?" 

Victor  looked  at  her  dazedly.  "I  didn't  hear 
anybody.  Proceed." 

"Mercy!  It's  ten  o'clock.  Where  are  Aunt 
Louise  and  your  mother?  I  hear  Mr.  Bartol's 
voice!"  she  exclaimed,  rising  hastily.  "Let's  go 
get  the  latest  news." 

The  master  of  the  house  entered  before  the 
young  people  could  shake  off  the  spell  of  what 
they  had  been  imagining. 

"What  a  waste  of  good  moonlight!"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  smiling  sympathy.  "Why  aren't 
you  youngsters  out  on  the  lawn?" 

"It's  all  your  fault,"  responded  Leo.  "We've 
been  absorbing  one  of  the  books  you  sent  up." 

' '  Have  you  ?  It  must  have  been  a  wonderful 
romance.  I  can't  conceive  of  anything  but  a 
love-story  keeping  youth  indoors  on  a  night  like 

this." 

226 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

Victor  defended  her.  " We've  been  reading 
of  Morselli's  wonderful  experiments.  It's  in 
Italian,  and  Miss  Wood  has  been  translating  it 
for  me." 

''What  luck  you  have!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bartol. 
"I  engage  her  to  re-translate  it  for  me  at  the 
same  rate." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  and  Mrs.  Joyce  came  in  as  he  was 
speaking,  and  Mrs.  Joyce,  after  disposing  herself 
comfortably,  said,  "Well,  what  is  your  report?" 

He  confessed  that  he  had  been  too  busy  with 
other  matters  to  give  the  Aiken  accusation  much 
thought.  "However,  I  sent  an  armful  of  books 
out  to  my  assistant  attorney."  He  waved  his 
hand  toward  Victor. 

"You  don't  mean  to  read  books,"  protested 
Mrs.  Joyce,  energetically,  "when  you've  the  very 
source  of  all  knowledge  right  here  in  your  own 
house?  Why  don't  you  study  your  client  and 
convince  yourself  of  her  powers? — then  you'll 
know  what  to  do  and  say." 

"I  had  thought  of  that,"  he  said,  hesitantly. 
"But—" 

"You  need  not  fear,"  Mrs.  Joyce  assured  him. 
"It's  true  Lucy  cannot  always  furnish  the 
phenomena  on  the  instant.  In  fact,  the  more 
eager  she  is  the  more  reluctant  the  forces  are; 
but  you  can  at  least  try,  and  she  is  not  only 
willing  but  eager  for  the  test." 

Bartol  turned  to  Mrs.  Ollnee.  "Are  you  pre 
pared  now — to-night?"  he  asked. 

227 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Yes,  this  moment,"  she  answered. 

Mrs.  Joyce  exulted.  "The  power  is  on  her. 
I  can  see  that.  See  how  her  hand  trembles! 
One  finger  is  signaling.  Don't  you  see  it?" 

Mr.  Bartol  rose.  "Come  with  me  into  my 
study.  Mrs.  Joyce  may  come  some  other  time. 
I  do  not  want  any  witnesses  to-night,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile. 

Victor  watched  his  mother  go  into  Bartol's 
study  with  something  of  the  feeling  he  might 
have  had  in  seeing  her  enter  the  den  of  a  lion. 
She  seemed  very  helpless  and  very  inexperienced 
in  contrast  with  this  great  inquisitor,  so  skilled 
in  cross-examination,  so  inexorable  in  logic,  so 
menacing  of  eye. 

Leo,  perceiving  Victor's  anxiety,  proposed  that 
they  return  to  the  porch,  and  to  this  he  acceded, 
though  it  seemed  like  a  cowardly  desertion  of 
his  mother.  "  Poor  little  mother,"  he  said. 
"If  she  stands  up  against  him  she's  a  won 
der." 

The  girl  stretched  herself  out  on  the  swinging 
couch,  and  the  youth  took  his  seat  on  a  wicker 
chair  close  beside  her.  Mrs.  Joyce  kept  at  a 
decent  distance,  so  that  if  the  young  people  had 
anything  private  to  say  she  might  reasonably 
appear  not  to  have  overheard  it. 

Talk  was  spasmodic,  for  neither  of  them  could 
forget  for  a  moment  the  duel  which  was  surely 
going  on  in  that  inner  room.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Joyce 
openly  spoke  of  it.  "If  Lucy  is  not  too  anxious, 

228 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

too  eager,  she   will   change   Alexander's  whole 
conception  of  the  universe  this  night." 

"Of  course  you're  exaggerating,  Aunt  Louise; 
but  I  certainly  expect  her  to  shake  him  up." 

"It  only  needs  one  genuine  phenomenon  to 
convince  him  of  her  sincerity.  What  a  warrior 
for  the  cause  he  would  make!  She  must  stay 
right  here  in  his  house  till  she  utterly  over 
whelms  him.  He  took  up  her  case  at  first  mere 
ly  because  I  asked  him  to  do  so ;  but  he  likes  her, 
and  is  ready  to  take  it  up  on  her  own  account  if 
he  finds  her  sincere.  But  I  want  him  to  believe 
in  the  philosophy  she  represents." 

Half  an  hour  passed  with  no  sign  from  within, 
and  Mrs.  Joyce  began  to  yawn.  "That  ride 
made  me  sleepy." 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  bed?"  suggested  Leo. 
She  professed  concern.     "And  leave  Lucy  un 
guarded?" 

' '  Nonsense !     Go  to  bed  and  sleep.     Mr.  Ollnee 
and  I  will  stand  guard  till  the  ordeal  is  ended." 
"I  believe  I'll  risk  it,"  decided  Mrs.  Joyce. 
"I  can  hardly  keep  my  eyes  open." 

"Nor  your  mouth  shut,"  laughed  Leo.  "Has 
ten,  or  you'll  fall  asleep  on  the  stair." 

Left  alone,  the  young  people  came  nigh  to 
forgetting  that  the  world  contained  aught  but 
dim  stretches  of  moonlit  greensward,  dewy 
trees,  and  the  odor  of  lilac  blooms.  In  the  dusk 
Victor  stood  less  in  fear  of  the  girl,  and  she, 
moved  by  the  witchery  of  the  night  and  the 
16  229 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

melody  of  his  voice  (into  which  something  new 
and  masterful  had  come),  grew  less  defiant. 
''How  still  it  all  is?"  she  breathed,  softly.  "It 
is  like  the  Elysian  Fields  after  the  city's  noise 
and  grime." 

"It's  more  beautiful  out  there."  He  mo 
tioned  toward  the  lawn.  "Let's  walk  down  the 
drive." 

And  she  complied  without  hesitation,  a  laugh 
in  her  voice.  ' '  But  not  too  far.  Remember,  we 
are  guardian  angels." 

As  she  reached  his  side  he  took  her  arm  and 
tucked  it  within  his  own.  "You  might  get 
lost,"  he  said,  in  jocular  explanation  of  his 
action. 

"How  considerate  you  are!"  she  scornfully 
responded,  but  her  hand  remained  in  his  keeping. 

There  were  no  problems  now.  Down  through 
the  soft  dusk  of  the  summer  night  they  strolled, 
rapturously  listening  to  the  sounds  that  were 
hardly  more  than  silences,  feeling  the  touch  of 
each  other's  garments,  experiencing  the  magic 
thrill  which  leaps  from  maid  to  man  and  man 
to  maid  in  times  like  these. 

"How  big  you  are!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "I 
didn't  realize  how  much  you  overtopped  me.  I 
am  considered  tall." 

"And  so  you  are — and  divinely  fair." 

"How  banal!  Couldn't  you  think  of  a  newer 
one?" 

"It  was  as  much  as  ever  I  remembered,  that. 
230 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

I'm  not  a  giant  in  poetry.  I'm  a  dub  at  any 
fine  job." 

Of  this  quality  was  their  talk.  To  those  of  us 
who  are  old  and  dim-eyed,  it  seems  of  no  account, 
perhaps,  but  to  those  who  can  remember 
similar  walks  and  talks  it  is  of  higher  worth 
than  the  lectures  in  the  Sorbonne.  Learning  is 
a  very  chill  abstraction  on  such  a  night  to  such 
a  pair.  Would  we  not  all  go  back  again  to  this 
sweet  land  of  love  and  longing — if  we  could  ? 

Victor  did  not  deliberately  plan  to  draw 
Leonora  closer  to  his  side,  and  the  proud  girl 
did  not  intend  to  permit  him  to  do  so ;  but  some 
how  it  happened  that  his  arm  stole  round  her 
waist  as  they  walked  the  shadowy  places  of  the 
drive,  and  their  1-aggard  feet  were  wholly  out  of 
rhythm  to  their  leaping  pulses. 

The  proof  of  Victor's  naturally  dependable 
character  lay  in  the  fact  that  he  presumed  no 
further.  He  was  content  with  the  occasional 
touch  of  her  rounded  hip  to  his,  the  caressing 
touch  of  her  skirt  as  it  swung  about  his  ankle. 
To  have  attempted  a  kiss  would  have  broken 
the  spell,  would  have  alarmed  and  repelled  her. 
He  honored  her,  loved  her,  but  he  was  still  in 
awe  of  her  proud  glance  and  the  imperious  car 
riage  of  her  head.  He  preferred  to  think  she 
suffered  rather  than  invited  the  clasp  of  his  arm. 

She,  on  her  part,  was  astonished  and  a  little 
scared  by  her  own  complaisant  weakness,  and  as 
they  came  out  into  the  lighter  part  of  the  walk 

231 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

she  disengaged  herself  with  a  self-derisive  re 
mark,  and  asked,  "Do  you  always  take  such 
good  care  of  the  arms  of  your  girl  friends?" 

"Always,"  he  replied,  instantly,  though  his 
heart  was  still  in  the  clutch  of  his  new-born 
passion. 

' '  I  shall  be  on  my  guard  next  time.  ...  I  see 
Mr.  Bartol  in  the  doorway.  Don't  you  think 
we'd  better  go  in  ?  What  time  do  you  suppose 
it  is?" 

"The  saddest  time  in  the  world  for  me  if  you 
are  going  to  leave  me." 

"Don't  be  maudlin."  She  had  recovered  her 
self-command,  and  was  disposed  to  be  extra 
severe.  "Sentimental  nothings  is  hardly  your 
strong  point." 

"What  is  my  strong  point?" 

She  was  ready  with  an  answer.  "Plain  down 
right  impudence." 

He,  too,  was  recovering  speech.  "I'm  glad 
I  have  one  strong  trait.  I  was  afraid  there  was 
nothing  about  me  to  make  a  definite  impression 
on  a  proud  beauty  like  you." 

"Please  don't  try  to  be  literary.  Stick  to 
your  oars  and  your  baseball  raquet." 

"Bat,"  he  corrected. 

"I  meant  bat." 

"I  know  you  did;    but  you  said  raquet." 

In  this  juvenile  spat  they  approached  the 
porch  where  Mr.  Bartol  stood  waiting  for  them. 

"Young  people,"  he  called,  in  a  voice  that 
232 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

somehow  voiced  a  deep  emotion,  "do  you  realize 
that  it  is  midnight?" 

Protesting  their  amazement,  they  mounted  the 
steps  and  entered  the  house;    but  the  moment 
they  looked  into  their  host's  face  they  became' 
serious,  perceiving  that  something  very  tremen 
dous  had  taken  place  in  his  laboratory. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Leo.  "What 
did  she  do?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  he  replied,  strangely  in 
conclusive  in  tone  and  phrase.  "I  must  think 
it  all  over.  If  I  can  persuade  myself  that  the 
marvels  which  I  have  witnessed  are  realities,  the 
universe  is  an  entirely  new  and  vastly  different 
machine  for  me." 

Thrilling  to  the  excitement  in  his  face  and  in  his 
voice,  they  passed  on.  At  the  top  of  the  stairs 
Leo  faced  Victor  with  eyes  big  with  excitement. 
"What  do  you  suppose  came  to  him?" 

"I  haven't  an  idea.  He  seemed  terribly 
wrought  up,  though." 

"We  must  say  good-night."  She  held  out 
her  hand,  and  he  took  it. 

"This  has  been  the  finest,  most  instructive 
day  of  my  life." 

She  released  her  hand  with  a  little  decisive, 
dismissing  movement.  "How  nice  of  you! 
Signor  Morselli  should  know  of  it.  Good-night !" 
And  the  smile  with  which  she  left  him  was  de 
lightfully  provoking  and  mirthful. 

Victor  would  have  gone  straight  to  his  mother 
233 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

had  he  known  where  to  find  her,  for  he  was  eager 
to  know  what  had  taken  place  in  the  deeps  of 
Bartol's  study.  That  she  had  been  able  to 
mystify  the  great  lawyer,  he  was  convinced ;  and 
yet,  perhaps,  this  was  only  temporary.  ''He 
will  go  further.  What  will  he  find?" 

He  was  standing  before  his  dresser  slowly  re 
moving  his  collar  and  tie  when  the  door  opened 
and  his  mother  entered.  She  was  abnormally 
wide  awake,  and  her  eyes,  violet  in  their  inten 
sity,  betrayed  so  much  excitement  that  he  ex 
claimed:  "Why,  mother,  what's  the  matter? 
What  kind  of  a  session  did  you  have?  What 
has  happened  to  you?" 

"Victor,  father  tells  me  that  Mr.  Bartol  will 
be  convinced.  He  is  the  greatest  mind  I  have 
ever  met.  If  I  can  bring  him  to  a  belief  in  the 
spirit  world  it  will  be  the  most  important  vic 
tory  of  my  life." 

1 '  What  did  he  say  to  you  ?  What  did  he  think  ?" 

"I  don't  know;  and  strange  to  say,  I  cannot 
read  his  mind.  He  seems  convinced  of  the  phe 
nomena,  and  yet  I  can't  tell  for  certain.  He  was 
skeptical  at  the  beginning,  as  nearly  every  one  is." 

Hitherto,  at  every  such  opening,  Victor  had 
rushed  in  to  pluck  the  heart  out  of  her  mystery, 
but  now  he  restrained  himself,  for  fear  of  trap 
ping  her  into  some  admission,  which  would 
make  his  own  testimony  more  difficult  in  court. 
He  took  a  seat  on  the  bed  and  regarded  her  with 
meditative  eyes,  and  she  went  on. 

234 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

"The  Voices  are  clamoring  round  me  still. 
They  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  them — not  to-night," 
he  replied,  coldly.  "Tell  them  to  wait  and  talk 
to  me  when  Mr.  Bartol  is  listening." 

She  seemed  disappointed  and  a  little  hurt  by 
his  tone.  "Altair  is  here.  She  wishes  most  to 
speak." 

Interest  awoke  in  him.  ' '  What  does  she  want 
of  me?" 

She  listened.     "She  says,  '  Trust  Mr.  Bartol.' " 

He  could  see  nothing,  hear  nothing,  therefore 
his  face  lost  its  light. 

"Well,  we've  got  to  trust  him.  He's  all  the 
help  in  sight." 

Something,  a  breath,  the  light  caress  of  a 
hand,  passed  over  his  hair,  and  a  whisper  that 
was  almost  tone  spoke  in  his  ear,  "Fear  nothing, 
if  you  will  be  guided  and  protected." 

Sweet  as  this  voice  was,  it  irritated  him,  for  he 
could  not  disassociate  his  mother  from  it.  In 
deed,  it  had  something  subtly  familiar  in  its 
utterance,  and  yet  he  could  not  accuse  her  of 
deceit.  He  only  roughly  said:  "Don't  do  that! 
I  don't  like  that!" 

Silence  followed,  and  then  his  mother  sadly 
said:  "You  have  hurt  her.  She  will  not  speak 
again." 

"Let  her  show  herself.  How  do  I  know  who 
is  speaking  to  me?  Let  me  see  her  face  again." 
He  added  this  in  a  gentler  voice,  being  moved 

235 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

by  a  vivid  memory  of  the  exquisite  picture 
Altair  had  made. 

After  another  pause  Mrs.  Ollnee  answered: 
"She  will  do  so.  She  says  soon.  She  has  gone; 
but  your  father  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

Victor  rose  impatiently.  "Tell  him  to  come 
again  some  other  time.  I'm  sleepy  now." 

She  turned  away  saddened  by  his  manner, 
and  with  a  gentle  "good-night"  went  softly 
from  the  room. 

Victor  regretted  his  bluntness,  but  could  not 
free  himself  from  a  feeling  that  his  mother's 
Voices  were  deceptive  or  imaginary,  and  her  visit 
hurt  and  disgusted  him  so  deeply  that  the  charm 
of  his  evening's  companionship  with  Leo  was  all 
but  lost.  "Part  of  her  phenomena  are  real,  but 
these  Voices — "  He  broke  off  and  went  to  his 
bed  with  a  vague  feeling  of  loss  weighing  him 
down. 

For  a  half -hour  he  lay  in  growing  bitterness, 
and  then  quite  suddenly  he  thought  he  detected 
a  thin,  blue  vapor  rising  from  the  rag  rug  at  the 
side  of  his  bed,  and  for  an  instant  he  was  startled. 
"Is  it  smoke?  Or  do  I  imagine  it?"  As  it  rose 
and  sank,  expanded  and  contracted,  he  studied 
it  closely.  It  was  not  smoke,  for  it  did  not 
ascend.  It  was  more  like  filmy  drapery  tossed 
by  a  wind  from  a  hidden  aperture  in  the  floor. 
Motionless,  amazed,  and  awed,  he  watched  it,  till 
out  of  it  the  face  of  a  woman  looked,  her  wistful 
eyes  touched  with  an  accusing  sorrow.  It  was 

236 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

Altair,  and  her  form  became  more  real  from 
moment  to  moment,  until  at  last  he  could  detect 
the  swell  of  her  bosom,  draped  with  the  folds  of 
a  shimmering  white  robe.  As  he  waited  a  hand 
appeared  at  her  side,  vaguely  outlined,  yet  alive. 
He  could  see  the  fingers  loosely  clasped  about  a 
rose.  She  was  so  beautiful  that  he  lay  gazing 
at  her  in  speechless  wonder.  ' '  Am  I  dreaming  ?' ' 
he  asked  himself.  "I  must  be  dreaming."  And 
yet  he  could  feel  the  air  from  the  window. 

In  the  light  of  her  glance  he  forgot  all  his 
other  loves  and  cares.  His  worship  for  her  re 
turned  like  swift  hunger,  and  he  yearned  to 
touch  her,  to  hear  her  voice.  "She  is  a  dream," 
he  decided,  and  his  hand,  lifted  to  test  the  vision, 
fell  back  upon  the  coverlet. 

As  if  reading  his  thought,  Altair  put  out  her 
right  arm  and  touched  his  wrist  with  a  caress 
like  the  stroke  of  a  beam  of  moonlight,  so  light 
and  cold  it  was. 

" Victor"  she  seemed  to  say,  and  his  whisper 
was  almost  as  light  as  her  own. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Don't  you  know  me?  1  am  Altair.  Do  not 
forget  me." 

1 '  I  will  not  forget  you,"  he  answered.  ' '  I  can't 
forget  you.  Why  do  you  look  so  sad?" 

"It  is  cold  and  empty  where  I  dwell.  I  come 
to  you  for  happiness  and  warmth.  You  had  for 
gotten  me.  You  would  not  listen  to  my  voice." 
Her  reproach  moved  him  almost  to  tears. 

237 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

"I  could  not  see  you.     I  was  not  sure." 

"7  do  not  accuse  you.  It  is  natural  for  you 
to  love.  When  the  day  comes  you  will  seek  another. 
One  whose  flesh  is  warm.  Mine  is  cold.  She  is 
of  the  day.  I  am  of  the  night.  But  do  not  refuse 
to  speak  to  me" 

Her  bust  had  grown  fuller,  more  complete  as 
she  spoke,  and  yet  from  the  waist  downward  she 
seemed  but  a  trailing  garment  of  convoluting, 
phosphorescent  gauze.  Her  left  hand  still  hung 
at  her  side,  vague,  diaphanous,  but  her  right 
lay  upon  her  breast,  as  beautiful,  as  real  as  firelit 
ivory,  and  her  face  seemed  to  glow  as  though 
with  some  inward  radiance. 

Victor  could  follow  the  exquisite  line  of  her 
brow,  and  her  eyes  were  glorious  pools  of  color, 
deep  and  dark  with  mystery  and  passion.  Slowly 
she  sank  as  if  kneeling,  her  stately  head  lowered, 
bent  above  him,  and  he  felt  the  touch  of  soft 
lips  upon  his  own — a  kiss  so  warm,  so  human 
that  it  filled  his  heart  with  worship.  Gently 
he  lifted  his  hand,  seeking  to  draw  her  to  him, 
and  for  an  instant  he  felt  her  pliant  body  in 
the  circle  of  his  arms — then  she  dissolved,  van 
ished — like  some  condensation  of  the  atmosphere, 
and  he  was  left  alone,  aching  with  longing  and 
despair. 

For  a  long  time  he  waited,  hoping  she  would 
return.  He  saw  the  moonlight  fade  from  the 
carpet.  He  heard  the  night  wind  amid  the 
maple  leaves,  and  he  knew  he  had  not  been 

238' 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

dreaming,  for  that  strange  Oriental  perfume  lin 
gered  in  the  air,  and  on  the  coverlet  where  her 
exquisite  hand  had  rested  a  white  bloom  lay, 
mystic  and  wonderful.  He  lifted  it,  and  its 
breath,  sweeter  than  that  of  any  other  flower 
he  had  ever  held,  filled  him  with  instant  languor 
and  happy  release  of  care. 

His  next  perception  was  that  of  sunlight.  It 
was  morning,  and  the  kine  and  fowls  were  astir. 

He  looked  for  the  mysterious  flower,  but  it 
was  gone.  He  sprang  from  his  bed  and  searched 
the  room  for  it.  "It  did  not  exist,"  he  sadly 
concluded.  "It  has  returned  to  the  mysterious 
world  from  whence  it  came." 

For  a  long  time  afterward  he  suffered  with  a 
sense  of  loss,  while  the  sunlight  deepened  in  his 
room  and  the  sounds  of  the  barn-yard  brought 
back  to  him  the  realization  that  he  was  in  effect 
a  fugitive  in  the  house  of  a  stranger.  Slowly 
the  normal  action  of  his  mind  and  body  resumed 
its  sway,  and  he  dressed,  quite  sure  that  some 
thing  abnormal  had  brought  this  vision  to  him. 
He  wondered  if  he,  too,  were  getting  mediumis- 
tic.  "Am  I  to  be  a  son  of  my  mother?  Am  I 
to  hear  voices  and  see  visions?"  he  asked  him 
self,  with  a  note  of  alarm.  He  began  to  fear  the 
disintegrating  effects  of  these  experiences.  His 
personality;  his  body  hitherto  so  solid,  so  stable, 
seemed  about  to  develop  disturbing  capabilities. 

He  was  profoundly  pleased  and  reassured  to 
find  on  his  dressing-room  table  a  large  white  rose, 

239 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

a  rose  precisely  like  that  which  had  been  laid 
upon  his  coverlet  by  the  hand  of  the  dream- 
woman.  It's  odor  was  the  same,  and  its  petals 
were  as  fresh  as  if  it  had  just  been  cut.  It  re 
assured  him  by  convincing  him  that  his  vision 
was  real — that  it  had  a  basis  of  physical  change; 
but  it  also  started  a  perplexing  chain  of  thought. 
"How  came  the  rose  here?  Who  brought  it?" 
was  his  question.  "It  certainly  was  not  there 
when  I  went  to  bed." 

With  the  flower  in  his  hand,  he  still  stood 
looking  down  at  the  place  where  the  hand  of 
Altair  had  rested — still  marveling  at  this  min 
gling  of  the  real  and  the  fantastic,  the  dream  and 
the  rose,  when  something  shining  revealed  itself 
half  concealed  by  the  pillow ;  and  putting  out  his 
hand  he  took  up  a  little  brooch  of  turquoise  set 
with  diamonds,  which  he  recognized  instantly  as 
one  that  Leo  had  worn  at  her  throat  when  she 
said  good-night. 

Sinking  into  a  chair,  he  stared  now  at  the 
jewel,  now  at  the  rose,  while  a  thrill  of  pride, 
of  mastery,  of  joy  stole  through  him.  His  blood 
warmed.  His  heart  quickened  its  beat.  Could 
it  be  that  Leo  had  been  his  visitor  ?  Was  it  pos 
sible  that  she,  burning  with  hidden  love  of  him, 
had  stolen  to  his  room,  and  there  at  his  bedside, 
masking  herself  as  Altair,  had  bent  to  his  drowsy 
eyes,  and  laid  upon  his  lips  that  fervid  kiss? 
The  thought  confused  him,  overpowered  him, 
exalted  him. 

240 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

His  was  a  chivalrous  nature,  therefore  this  act, 
at  the  moment,  seemed  neither  unmaidenly  nor 
wrong — indeed,  it  appeared  very  beautiful  in  his 
eyes.  It  humbled  him,  made  him  wonder  if  he 
were  worth  the  risk  she  had  run?  He  was  not 
abnormally  self-appreciative,  but  he  had  not 
been  left  unaware  of  his  appeal  to  women.  His 
previous  love-affairs  had  been  those  of  the  under 
graduate,  proceeding  under  the  jocular  super 
vision  of  his  watchful  fellows.  His  present  case 
was  in  wholly  different  spirit.  He  was  a  man 
now — in  fact,  his  quarrel  with  Leo  from  the  first 
had  been  over  her  evident  determination  to  treat 
him  as  a  lad. 

The  memory  of  her  serene  self-possession  made 
her  self-surrender  of  the  night  all  the  more 
amazing  to  him.  "It  is  cold  and  empty  where 
I  dwell,"  she  had  said.  This  meant  that  she 
loved  him — longed  for  him — it  could  mean  noth 
ing  else.  Her  love  had  begun  during  their  ride 
on  the  lagoon,  in  their  delicious  drowse  on  the 
grass.  It  had  been  deepened  by  their  afternoon 
of  sweet  companionship  at  tennis  and  over  their 
books;  then  came  the  walk  in  the  moonlight  and 
her  acceptance  of  his  caress  in  the  dusky  place  in 
the  path  —  all  were  preparatory  to  this  final 
wondrous  visit  and  confession. 

And  yet  her  eyes  had  never  been  other  than 
those  of  a  friend.  Seemingly  she  had  laughed 
at  herself  for  the  momentary  weakness  of  yield 
ing  to  his  arm.  Her  daylight  expression  had 

241 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

always  been  that  of  the  humorous,  self-reliant, 
rather  intellectual  girl,  who  acknowledges  no 
fear  of  man  and  no  sudden  rush  of  passion,  and 
yet —  How  reconcile  the  facts! 

He  smiled  to  think  how  he  had  been  deceived 
by  her  imperious  air,  by  her  expressed  contempt 
for  his  interest.  "And  all  the  while  she  was 
really  waiting  for  me  to  break  through  her  re 
serve,"  he  said;  and  this  delicious  explanation 
satisfied  him  for  a  few  moments,  till  he  went 
deeper  into  his  memory  of  what  she  had  said 
and  done. 

He  was  forced  to  reassure  himself  again  by 
the  jewel  and  the  rose  that  she  had  really  come 
to  him,  so  dream-like  did  the  whole  ethereal 
episode  now  seem.  The  more  he  dwelt  upon 
the  vision  the  deeper  it  moved  him.  It's  grow 
ing  significance  set  his  blood  aflame.  In  fiction 
and  poesy  women  often  sacrifice  their  reserve, 
moved  by  uncontrollable  longing,  like  the  hero 
ine  of  mad  Ophelia's  song,  because  commanded 
by  something  stronger  than  their  sweet  selves. 
It  was  hard  to  think  of  Leo  as  one  carried  out 
of  herself  by  love  —  and  yet  here  lay  the  jewel 
of  her  bosom  in  his  hand!  How  to  meet  her 
puzzled  and  excited  him. 

Up  to  this  minute  he  had  admired  her  and 
had  paid  court  to  her  as  a  young  man  naturally 
addresses  a  handsome  girl,  but  he  was  not  vio 
lently  in  love  with  her;  indeed,  she  had  in 
terested  him  rather  less  than  a  girl  in  Winona, 

242 


A  MOONLIGHT  CALL 

daughter  of  Professor  Boyden;  but  now,  as  he 
was  about  to  meet  her  in  the  breakfast-room, 
she  possessed  more  power,  more  significance, 
than  any  woman  in  the  world.  He  recalled  how 
fine  and  helpful  she  had  been  during  the  few 
days  of  their  acquaintance — her  serenity,  her 
good  sense,  her  pungent  comment  began  to  seem 
very  wonderful. 

He  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass,  finding  there 
a  very  good-looking,  stalwart  youth,  but  could 
not  discover  anything  to  account  for  the  sudden 
blaze  of  Leonora's  self-sacrificing  passion.  He 
was  neither  a  fool  nor  a  peacock,  and  he  tried  to 
account  for  her  love  on  the  ground  of  her  regard 
for  his  mother.  Then,  like  a  flash  of  light,  came 
the  thought,  "vShe  was  sleep-walking!" 

He  had  read  of  the  marvels  of  hypnotism  and 
somnambulism.  Perhaps  in  some  strange  way 
his  mother's  desire  to  have  Leo  love  her  son  had 
sent  the  girl  straight  to  his  bedside.  There  was 
something  uncanny  in  her  speech  and  in  her 
gestures — only  in  her  kiss  had  she  been  solidly, 
warmly  human. 

And  yet  all  this  seemed  so  difficult  to  believe — 
and  besides,  if  the  girl  came  in  her  sleep,  did  it 
not  prove  her  love  quite  as  conclusively?  It 
might  be  unconscious,  but  it  was  there. 

With  heart  pounding  mightily,  and  face  set 
and  stern,  he  left  his  room  and  began  descend 
ing  the  stairway,  uncertain  still  of  the  way  in 
which  he  should  meet  her. 

243 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Happily  he  found  no  one  in  the  dining-room 
but  the  maid,  who  said  to  him,  "Mr.  Bartol  would 
like  to  see  Mr.  Ollnee  in  his  study  as  soon  as  Mr. 
Ollnee  has  had  his  breakfast." 

"Very  well,"  he  replied;  "I  will  make  short 
work  of  breakfast  this  morning." 

As  he  sat  thus  awaiting  Leo,  his  mind  filled 
with  the  wonder  of  her  self-surrender,  he  con 
sidered  carefully  in  what  way  he  should  greet 
her.  "She  must  not  know  that  I  know,"  he  de 
cided.  "I  will  greet  her  as  if  I  had  not  found 
the  brooch,  and  I  will  leave  it  where  she  will 
happen  upon  it  accidentally." 


XIII 

VICTOR   TESTS    HIS    THEORY 

HE  was  still  at  breakfast,  deeply  engaged  with 
his  alluring   vision,  when   Mrs.  Joyce   and 
his  mother  entered  the  room.     As  he  rose  to 
greet  them  Mrs.  Joyce  asked,  "Have  you  seen 
Mr.  Bartol?" 

' '  Not  yet — but  he  is  up.  I  am  to  see  him  soon . 
Where  is  Leo?" 

"She  is  not  feeling  very  brisk  this  morning, 
and  is  taking  her  coffee  in  bed." 

He  said  no  more,  but  resumed  his  seat,  richer 
by  this  added  proof  of  the  deep  perturbation 
through  which  the  girl  had  passed.  He  was  dis 
appointed,  and  eager  to  see  her,  but  the  convic 
tion  that  she  had  been  sleepless  from  love  of  him 
put  him  among  the  clouds.  He  would  have  for 
gotten  his  appointment  with  Bartol  had  not  the 
maid  reminded  him  of  it.  Even  then  he  tried  to 
avoid  it.  "You're  sure  he  wanted  me?  Didn't 
he  mean  my  mother?" 

"I'm  quite  sure  he  said  Mister  Ollnee." 

"Mother,  what  do  you  suppose  he  wants  of 
me?" 

17  245 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"I  don't  know,  Victor.  Perhaps  he  wants  to 
talk  over  the  trial." 

"Come  back  and  tell  us  as  soon  as  you  can," 
commanded  Mrs.  Joyce.  "I'm  crazy  to  know 
what  he  did  last  night,  and  what  he  really  thinks 
of  us?" 

Victor  promised  to  report,  and  went  away  to 
his  interview  with  a  vague  alarm  disturbing  the 
blissful  self-satisfaction  of  the  early  morning. 

He  found  Bartol  seated  at  a  big  table  with  a 
writing  -  pad  before  him  and  four  or  five  open 
volumes  disposed  about  as  if  for  reference.  He, 
too,  looked  old  and  worn  and  rather  grim,  but 
he  greeted  his  guest  politely.  "Good-morning. 
Have  you  seen  your  mother  this  morning?" 

"Yes,  I  have  just  left  her  at  breakfast." 

"How  is  she?" 

"She  seems  quite  herself  —  a  little  pale, 
perhaps." 

"Be  seated,  please.  I  want  to  go  over  our 
case  with  you.  First  of  all,  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  once  more,  and  in  full  detail,  all  you  know 
of  your  mother's  life.  Begin  at  the  beginning 
and  leave  nothing  out.  Don't  theorize  or  try 
to  explain — give  me  the  facts  as  you  have  ob 
served  them." 

This  was  not  the  kind  of  business  to  which  a 
love-exalted  youth  would  set  himself,  but  Victor 
squared  himself  before  the  brooding  face  and 
deep-set  eyes  of  his  host,  and  entered  once  more 
upon  the  story  of  the  "ghost -room,"  which  had 

246 


VICTOR  TESTS  HIS  THEORY 

been  the  one  dark  spot  in  his  childhood,  and 
which  became  again  in  a  moment  the  over 
shadowing  torment  of  his  young  manhood. 

As  he  talked  the  intent  look  of  the  man  before 
him,  his  short,  sharp,  significant  questions  in 
spired  him.  He  poured  forth  in  eloquent  and 
moving  phrase  the  story  of  his  sudden  awaken 
ing  to  a  knowledge  that  his  mother  was  a  paid 
medium,  and  under  persecution  by  the  press  of 
the  city.  He  told  of  his  sittings  with  her, wherein 
he  had  savagely  determined  to  unmask  her  for 
her  own  good.  He  admitted  his  complete  failure. 
He  related  his  experiences  during  the  time  she 
lay  in  deathly  trance,  and  his  voice  lost  its 
smooth  flow  as  he  approached  the  most  mar 
velous  experience  of  all,  when  the  vast  and  mur 
muring  wind  blew  through  the  small  room  and 
Altair  came  with  sad,  sweet  face,  to  bewitch  him 
and  to  shake  his  conceptions  of  the  universe  to 
their  foundation  stones.  He  confessed  his  be 
wilderment  and  confusion,  and  ended  by  saying: 
"It's  all  unnatural,  diseased.  I  can't  believe  it 
is  the  real  side  of  things." 

"I  wonder  that  you  kept  your  head  at  all," 
remarked  Bartol.  "Your  youth  and  good,  hot 
blood  protect  you.  Have  you  talked  with  your 
mother  about  our  sitting?" 

"Only  a  few  words.  She  came  to  my  room 
last  night  and  told  me  she  had  only  a  dim 
recollection  of  what  took  place.  She  said  The 
Voices  wanted  to  talk  to  me — but  I  didn't  want 

247 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

them  to  talk  to  me — and  said  so — and  she  went 
away." 

Bartol  mused.  "Belief  is  not  a  matter  of 
evidence;  it  is  a  habit  of  mind.  I  find  myself 
unable  to  follow  the  evidence  of  my  own  senses. 
My  tests  of  your  mother  last  night  convinced  me 
at  the  moment  that  she  had  the  right  to  claim 
supernormal  powers.  She  seemingly  turned 
matter  into  a  mere  abstraction,  and  made  the 
learning  of  physicists  the  chatter  of  children." 
As  he  spoke  his  memory  of  what  he  had  seen 
freshened  and  his  excitement  increased.  His 
voice  deepened  and  his  eyes  glowed.  "Here 
are  my  notes  of  what  took  place,  and  I  have  spent 
the  night  in  comparing  my  observations  with 
those  of  Sir  William  Crookes  concerning  the 
medium  Home.  In  a  certain  very  real  sense  the 
phenomena  I  witnessed  were  quite  as  marvelous 
as  those  Crookes  chronicled."  He  rose  and  be 
gan  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  "And  yet 
this  morning  I  do  not  believe — I  cannot  believe — 
that  writing  was  precipitated  in  a  closed  book 
held  in  my  hand,  that  a  pen  rose  of  its  own 
volition  and  tapped  upon  the  table. 

"The  tendency  of  any  mind,  any  science,  is 
to  harden,  to  crystallize,  to  reach  a  stopping 
point.  The  student  is  prone  to  think  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  physical  universe  which  we 
have  must  be  the  larger  part  of  all  that  is  know- 
able — and  that  soon  we  will  have  gathered  it 
all  into  our  text-books.  Of  course  this  is  the 

248 


VICTOR  TESTS  HIS  THEORY 

sheerest  self-delusion.  A  little  thought  will  make 
clear  that  all  we  know  is  as  nothing  compared  to 
that  which  remains  to  be  known.  Up  to  ten 
o'clock  last  night  I  was  one  of  those  who  believe 
that  the  domain  of  nature  is  pretty  thoroughly 
mapped  out,  staked,  and  plowed  by  the  investi 
gator,  but  this  morning  I  find  my  horizons  again 
extended.  It  would  be  foolish  to  say  that  an 
hour's  experiments  and  a  night  of  reading  along 
new  lines  had  overturned  all  the  landmarks  of 
biologic  science;  but  I  confess  that  the  world 
for  me  has  greatly  changed.  I  held  in  my  hand 
last  night  a  force  in  action  for  which  science  has 
no  name  and  no  place — and  yet  thirty  years 
ago  Sir  William  Crookes  wrote  of  this  same 
force  in  the  spirit  with  which  he  discussed  other 
elements  and  powers,  and  yet  his  testimony  is 
not  accepted  by  his  fellows  even  to-day. 

"Your  mother  met  every  test  cheerfully  and 
instantly, and  demonstrated  to  me,  as  Home  did 
to  Crookes,  as  Slade  did  to  Zollner,  that  matter, 
as  we  think  we  know  it,  does  not  exist.  She  con 
vinced  me  not  merely  of  her  honesty,  but  of  her 
high  powers  as  a  psychic.  A  calm,  persistent, 
logical  purpose  ran  through  all  her  manifestations, 
and  her  Voices — whatever  they  may  mean  to 
you — advised  me  to  sit  again  with  her  and  to 
have  you  and  Miss  Wood,  Mrs.  Joyce,  and  Marie 
always  in  the  circle.  This  I  intend  to  do.  I 
feel  at  this  moment  as  if  no  other  business  mat 
tered.  I  have  been  here  at  my  desk  since  mid- 
249 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

night,  reading,  comparing  notes,  trying  to  con 
vince  myself  that  I  have  not  gone  suddenly  mad. 

' '  If  I  was  not  utterly  deceived,  if  your  fresh, 
keen  young  eyes  are  of  any  use  whatsoever,  if  the 
words  of  Crookes,  Wallace,  Lombroso,  and  their 
like  are  of  any  weight,  then  we  have  in  your 
mother  a  rare  and  subtle  organism  whose  powers 
are  of  more  importance  than  the  rings  of  Saturn 
or  the  canals  of  Mars." 

Victor  was  awed,  carried  out  of  himself  and 
his  small  concerns  by  the  deep  voice  of  the  great 
lawyer  as  he  formulated  his  impassioned  yet  re 
strained  musings.  It  was  evident  that  he  wel 
comed  this  opportunity  of  putting  his  thoughts 
into  words,  of  ordering  his  words  into  argument. 
Half  in  reverie  and  half  in  conscious  statement 
to  the  entranced  youth,  he  poured  forth  his 
troubled  soul. 

"I  was  a  materialist  when  your  mother  en 
tered  my  house.  I  believed  that  the  man  who 
died  went  out  like  a  candle.  The  grave  was  the 
end.  To  me  the  so-called  revelations  of  Buddha, 
Gautama,  Christ,  were  the  vague  dreams  of  the 
heart-sick,  the  stricken  mourners  of  the  earth — 
not  one  of  them  brought  a  beam  of  hope — but 
in  this  modern  spirit  of  experimentation,  in  the 
work  of  Crookes  and  his  like,  I  see  a  ray  of  light. 
Your  mother's  impersonations  of  my  wife,  her 
messages — Voices — may  be  due  to  mind-reading, 
to  clairvoyance,  but  the  method  of  their  delivery 
certainly  lies  beyond  any  known  law.  In  that 

250 


VICTOR  TESTS  HIS  THEORY 

glows  my  hope.  Grant  the  possibility  of  direct 
writing,  of  the  power  of  the  mind  to  think  its 
will  upon  paper  without  the  aid  of  hand  or  pen, 
and  a  whole  new  world  is  opened  up,  the  horizons 
of  life  are  infinitely  extended." 

He  paused  abruptly.  "I  was  weary  of  my 
days.  Yesterday  I  moved  as  a  creature  of  habit. 
This  morning  it  seems  that  I  have  a  new  inter 
est.  I  am  convinced  that  in  defending  your 
mother  I  am  defending  something  precious  to 
the  human  race ;  but  I  must  be  very  sure  of  my 
ground.  I  must  scrutinize  every  phase  of  her 
power,  and  you  must  help  me.  You  are  young 
and  well-trained.  You  have  a  good  mind,  and 
I  am  persuaded  you  will  go  far.  Your  mother 
worships  you,  lives  for  you.  Now,  you  and  I 
together  must  make  such  study  of  her  medium- 
ship  as  America  has  never  seen — a  study  which 
shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  any  ism,  fad,  or 
prejudice.  Will  you  help  me?" 

Victor,  overwhelmed  by  the  confidence  of  the 
great  lawyer,  by  the  honor  which  this  plea  laid 
upon  his  young  shoulders,  could  only  stammer, 
"I  will  do  my  best." 

Bartol  thanked  him.  "I  see  now,  as  I  never 
did  before,  that  this  power  is  a  subtle,  personal, 
psychical  adjustment,  and  the  part  you  are  to 
play  is  a  double  one.  First,  you  are  her  son, 
and  your  presence  and  influence  are  indispen 
sable.  Secondly,  you  are  vigorous  and  alert, 
comparatively  free  from  the  wrecking  effect  of 

251 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

bereavement  such  as  mine.  I  confess  I  cannot 
trust  myself  in  the  face  of  the  supposed  appeal 
of  my  dead.  I  am  like  the  doctor  who  refuses 
to  practise  upon  his  own  child — my  desires 
blind  me.  At  the  same  time  I  see  that  we  can 
not  thrust  strangers  upon  your  mother,  especially 
in  her  present  excited  state.  What  I  propose  is 
a  series  of  private  experiments,  including  chemi 
cal  tests,  instantaneous  photographs,  and  the 
like,  which  shall  convince  both  judge  and  jury 
of  the  reality  of  these  phenomena.  This  case 
will  come  before  my  friend,  Judge  Matthews,  and 
we  have  in  him  a  just  and  penetrating  mind.  If 
I  can  make  him  feel  my  own  present  conviction 
we  may  rest  our  case  safely  with  any  unprej 
udiced  jury." 

He  paused  and  picked  up  a  volume  from  the 
table.  "Crookes  is  explicit.  He  says  he  saw 
the  lath  move  without  visible  cause,  he  saw 
Home  thrust  his  hand  into  the  hearth  and  stir 
the  coals,  he  saw  the  accordion  play  without 
any  reason;  and  in  all  this  he  is  sustained  by 
other  men  testing  each  phenomenon  by  means  of 
electrical  registering  devices.  Now  we  must 
duplicate  these.  We  must  go  into  court  armed 
with  photographs,  records,  and  witnesses.  We 
will  make  this  a  cause  celbbre — doing  our  small 
part  to  forward  this  superb  and  fearless  European 
movement.  I  intend  to  be  both  lawyer  and 
physicist  hereafter,"  he  ended,  with  a  smile. 

That  the  great  lawyer  was  now  completely 
252 


VICTOR  TESTS   HIS  THEORY 

engaged  upon  his  mother's  defense  Victor  exult 
antly  perceived,  and  it  gave  him  a  feeling  of 
pride  and  security,  but  this  was  followed  by  a 
sense  of  being  uprooted.  The  sight  of  this  man, 
inspired  yet  confounded  by  what  had  come  to 
him  in  a  single  sitting,  brought  new  and  disturb 
ing  force  to  all  that  had  happened  to  himself. 
Was  it  possible  that  thought  could  be  precipi 
tated  like  dew  upon  a  sheet  of  paper? 

"Now,"  resumed  Bartol,  "I  have  made  a 
further  discovery.  There  is  a  brotherhood  of 
what  we  may  call  true  experimentalists — be 
ginning  with  Marc,  Thury,  and  the  Count  de 
Gasparin,  and  running  to  Flammarion  and 
Richet,  in  Paris;  the  Dialectical  Society,  Sir 
William  Crookes,  Alfred  Russell  Wallace,  Sir 
Oliver  Lodge,  in  England;  thence  back  to  the 
Continent,  to  Zollner,  Aksakof,  Ochorowicz,  De 
Rochas,  Maxwell,  Morselli,  and  Lombroso.  I 
need  a  condensed  record  of  these  experiments, 
and  a  synopsis  of  each  theory.  Once  within  this 
group,  you  will  learn  by  cross-reference  the 
names  of  all  those  whom  each  of  these  experi 
mentalists  regard  as  reliable.  You  can  work 
here  or  take  the  books  to  your  room — perhaps, 
on  the  whole,  Morselli' s  record  is  first  in  im 
portance.  Bring  me  a  clear  and  full  abstract 
of  that  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"I  do  not  read  Italian,"  confessed  Victor; 
"but  Leo — Miss  Wood — does;  perhaps  she  will 
help  me." 

253 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Very  good.  Now  as  to  the  mechanical  side 
of  this  matter.  I  have  a  nephew  who  is  an 
expert  photographer  and  a  clever  electrician. 
With  your  permission,  I  will  send  for  him  and 
see  what  he  can  do.  He  is  a  man  of  high  stand 
ing  in  his  profession,  and  a  quiet  personality- 
one  that  will  not  irritate  or  alarm  your  mother. 
Shall  I  bring  him  in  and  give  her  over  to  all  ?" 

"Certainly.  I'm  sure  mother  wants  you  to 
have  full  charge." 

"Very  well.  We  will  set  to  work  at  once, 
for  our  case  may  come  up  this  week.  At  its 
lowest  terms,  the  Aiken  charge  involves — to  us — 
the  admission  that  our  client  is  highly  sug 
gestible  and  that  she  has  been  used  as  an  un 
conscious  stool-pigeon  by  Pettus.  For  the  pres 
ent  we  must  proceed  upon  this  basis.  Suggestion 
is  more  or  less  accepted  at  the  present  time,  and 
we  may  be  able  to  get  the  jury  to  admit  our 
plea;  but  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  the  fact 
that  your  mother  stands  in  danger  of  severe 
punishment.  The  Star  has  singled  her  out  as 
a  scapegoat,  and  is  behind  the  Aikens.  They 
will  push  her  hard.  I  do  not  think  they  will 
follow  her  here,  but  if  they  do  I  shall  send  you 
to  my  nephew's  home. — Now  to  Morselli.  We 
must  know  just  where  he  stands  on  this  amazing 
branch  of  biology.  Will  you  make  this  synopsis 
to-day?" 

Victor's  eyes  glowed  with  the  fire  of  his 
awakened  pride  and  resolution.  "If  you'll  let 

254 


VICTOR  TESTS  HIS  THEORY 

me  help  you,  Mr.  Bartol,  I'll  show  you  what  my 
training  has  been.  I'm  quick  in  some  things. 
I  will  collate  and  put  in  order  all  the  latest  de 
ductions  of  science—  He  stopped.  "But  what 
exactly  do  you  intend  to  do  with  my  mother?" 

"I  mean  to  confine  her  in  such  wise  as  to 
demonstrate  precisely  what  she  can  do  and 
what  she  cannot.  I  must  divide  what  is  con 
scious  from  that  which  is  unconscious.  I  must 
understand  precisely  how  she  produces  these 
messages,  Voices,  and  faces.  We  are  agreed  that 
she  is  not  consciously  deceptive?"  He  ques 
tioned  Victor  with  a  glance. 

"I  know  she  is  honest." 

"Very  well,  we  must  demonstrate  her  honesty. 
We  must  photograph  her  so-called  materializa 
tions  side  by  side  with  her  own  body,  and  we 
must  register  the  work  of  these  invisible  hands, 
and  in  every  possible  way  demonstrate  that  she 
is  the  medium  and  not  the  originating  cause  of 
these  messages.  In  no  other  way  can  we  save 
her  from  disgrace  and  a  prison  cell." 

The  youth  went  away  with  a  humming  sound 
in  his  head.  The  thought  of  his  gentle  little 
mother  herded  with  vile  women  within  the  gray 
walls  of  a  penitentiary  filled  him  with  such  hor 
ror  that  his  face  went  drawn  and  white.  "It 
shall  not  be!  I  will  not  have  it  so!"  he  said, 
and  yet  he  saw  no  other  way  in  which  to  prevent 
it.  All  depended  upon  the  man  whose  im 
passioned  words  still  rang  in  his  ears,  and  his 

255 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

admiration  for  the  lawyer  rose  to  that  love  which 
youth  yields  to  the  highest  manhood. 

Mrs.  Joyce  met  him  in  the  hall,  excited,  eager. 
"What  did  he  say?" 

Victor  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  in  be 
wilderment.  "I  must  think,"  he  protested. 
"He  said  so  much —  Where  is  mother?" 

"She  is  on  the  porch — waiting.  Let  us  go 
out  to  her." 

He  followed  her  with  troubled  face,  but  the 
bright  sunshine  and  the  songs  of  the  birds  mi 
raculously  restored  him.  He  looked  up  and 
down  the  piazza  hoping  to  see  Leo,  but  she  was 
not  in  sight.  He  took  a  seat  in  silence,  and  Mrs. 
Joyce  saw  his  mother  grow  pale  in  sympathy  as 
she  read  the  trouble  in  his  face. 

Mrs.  Joyce  urged  him  to  tell  what  had  passed 
between  them,  and  he  replied: 

"I  can't  do  it.  All  I  can  say  is  this:  he  be 
lieves  mother  is  honest,  and  that  she  has  some 
strange  power.  He  will  defend  her  in  court; 
but  he  intends  to  study  into  the  whole  business 
very  closely,  and  he  wants  us  to  help  him." 

"Of  course  we'll  help  him,"  responded  Mrs. 
Joyce,  readily. 

Mrs.  Ollnee  went  to  the  heart  of  the  problem. 
"Just  what  does  he  want  to  do,  Victor?" 

"It  is  necessary  to  prove  absolutely  that  you 
have  nothing  to  do  with  these  phenomena." 

"But  I  do  have  everything  to  do  with  them," 
she  replied;  "that's  what  being  a  medium  means. 

256 


VICTOR  TESTS   HIS  THEORY 

However,  I  know  what  he  needs  better  than  you 
do.  He  wants  to  prove  that  the  messages  are 
supra-normal.  Very  well,  I  am  ready  for  any 
test." 

"It  will  be  a  fierce  one,  mother.  He  intends 
to  use  electricity  and  machines  for  recording 
movements  and  instantaneous  photography." 

"I  am  willing,  provided  he  will  proceed  in  co 
operation  with  your  father  and  Watts." 

"He  will  never  do  that,"  declared  Victor. 
"He  will  not  begin  by  granting  the  very  thing 
he's  trying  to  prove." 

It  was  upon  this  most  solemn  conference  that 
Leo  descended,  pale  and  restrained,  and  though 
Victor  sprang  up  with  new-born  love  in  his  face, 
she  did  not  flush  with  responding  warmth.  Her 
mood  of  the  moonlit  walk  had  utterly  vanished, 
and  he  found  himself  checked,  chilled,  and 
thrust  down  from  his  high  place  of  exalta 
tion. 

It  was  as  if  she  (ashamed  of  her  own  weak 
ness)  had  resolved  to  punish  him  for  presumption. 
He  smarted  under  her  indifference,  but  made 
no  open  protest,  though  his  hand  (in  the  pocket 
of  his  coat)  rested  upon  the  jeweled  sign  of  her 
self-surrender. 

She  lost  a  little  of  her  indifference  when  she 
learned  that  Bartol  had  been  kept  awake  all 
night  by  the  significance  of  the  phenomena  he 
had  witnessed,  and  she  joined  heartily  in  de 
claring  that  he  must  be  met  in  every  demand. 

257 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  might  see  the  experiments,"  she 
exclaimed. 

"He  wishes  you  to  do  so,"  replied  Victor, 
eagerly.  "The  Voices  told  him  to  have  you  in 
the  circle,  you  and  Mrs.  Joyce — " 

"And  Marie,"  added  Mrs.  Ollnee.  "Marie  is 
psychic." 

"When  do  we  try?"  asked  Leo,  meeting  his 
eyes  a  little  unsteadily,  so  it  seemed  to  him. 

Again  Mrs.  Ollnee  answered  for  him.  "To 
night;  Mr.  Bartol  is  telephoning  now,  arranging 
for  it." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Victor. 

"Your  father  is  speaking  to  me." 

"I  hear  him!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Joyce,  listening 
intently. 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  Leo. 

Mrs.  Ollnee  again  replied.  * '  He  says :  '  Be 
brave — trust  us.  We  will  protect  you.'  " 

Looking  across  at  the  girl,  in  whose  cheeks 
the  roses  were  beginning  to  bloom  again,  the 
youth  resented  the  interposition  of  the  super 
natural.  He  was  eager  to  approach  her,  to  hint 
at  the  memory  of  her  secret,  sweet  embrace.  As 
he  studied  the  exquisite  curve  of  her  lips  their 
touch  burned  again  upon  his  flesh,  and  he  rose 
with  sudden  reassertion  of  himself.  "Come, 
Leo,  let's  return  to  Morselli." 

He  had  never  called  her  by  her  first  name 
before,  and  it  produced  a  shock  in  them  both. 
She  looked  her  reproof,  but  he  pretended  not  to 

258 


VICTOR  TESTS   HIS  THEORY 

see  it,  and  neither  Mrs.  Joyce  nor  Mrs.  Ollnee 
seemed  to  think  his  familiarity  worthy  of  remark. 

Leo  coldly  answered:  "I  can  only  give  a  little 
time.  We  must  go  home  to-day." 

Mrs.  Joyce  promptly  said,  ''We  can't  desert 
the  ship  now,  Leo." 

"But  we  have  nothing  to  wear!"  the  girl 
retorted. 

"We'll  send  down  and  have  some  things 
brought  up.  Really,  this  work  for  Mr.  Bartol 
is  more  important  than  clothes." 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  Leo  admitted.  "But  at 
the  same  time  one  should  have  a  decent  regard 
to  the  conventions." 

The  colloquy  which  followed  filled  Victor  with 
dismay.  It  appeared  that  Leo  was  really  eager 
to  get  away,  as  if  she  felt  herself  to  be  in  a  false 
position.  "I  can't  afford  to  drop  my  daily 
affairs  in  the  city.  Why  can't  these  experi 
ments  be  put  off  for  a  day  or  two." 

"I  don't  think  we  ought  to  ask  a  great  and 
busy  lawyer  to  accommodate  himself  to  our 
piffling  social  plans,"  replied  Mrs.  Joyce.  "A 
few  minutes  ago  you  were  wild  to  join  these 
experiments,  now  you  are  crazy  to  go  home." 

Victor,  who  imagined  himself  in  full  pos 
session  of  the  reason  for  her  pause,  said  nothing; 
but  his  eyes  spoke,  and  the  girl  was  restless 
under  his  glance. 

She  gave  in  at  last.  "Well,  if  you  will  send 
for  the  things  I  need— 

259 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Victor  had  come  from  Bartol's  study  mightily 
resolved  to  do  speedily  and  well  any  work  that 
might  fall  to  his  hand,  but  as  he  found  himself 
seated  close  beside  the  daylight  girl  and  listening 
to  her  voice  transposing  Morselli  into  English 
his  resolution  weakened.  What  were  ghosts,  in 
ventions,  theories,  compared  to  the  satin-smooth 
curve  of  the  maiden's  cheek  or  the  delicate 
flutter  of  her  lashes? 

Try  as  he  would,  his  attention  wandered.  The 
book  smelled  of  the  clinic,  the  girl  of  the  dawn. 
Morselli's  problem  was  all  of  the  night,  while  on 
every  side  the  young  lover  beheld  trees  flashing 
green  mirrors  to  the  sun,  and  flowers  riding  like 
dainty  boats  on  the  billows  of  a  soft  western 
wind.  Moreover,  the  girl's  voice  was  like  to 
the  purling  of  brooks. 

Twice  she  reproved  him  for  his  wandering 
wits  and  laggard  pen,  and  the  second  time  he 
said:  "I  can't  help  it.  The  time  and  place 
invite  to  other  occupations.  Let's  go  for  a 
walk." 

"A  brave  student,  you  are!"  she  mocked. 
"Mr.  Bartol  will  find  you  a  valuable  aid  in  his 
scientific  investigations!" 

Her  look,  her  flushed  cheek,  and  the  hint  of 
her  bosom  set  him  a-tremble.  The  memory  of 
his  midnight  visitor  returned,  filling  him  with 
springtime  madness.. 

"Don't  you  make  game  of  me,"  he  stammered, 
warningly.  "If  you  do — I'll — " 

260 


VICTOR  TESTS  HIS  THEORY 

She  raised  an  amused  glance.  "What?  What 
will  you  do,  boy?" 

"Boy!"  Her  pose,  her  smile  were  challenges 
that  struck  home.  With  swift,  outflung  arm, 
he  encircled  her  waist  and  drew  her  to  his  breast. 
"Boy,  am  I?" 

She  beat  upon  him,  pushed  him  with  her 
small  hands.  "Let  me  go,  brute!" 

He  laughed  at  her,  exulting  in  his  strength. 
"Oh,  I  am  a  brute  now,  am  I?  Well,  I'm  not. 
I'm  a  man  and  your  master.  I  want  a  kiss." 

She  ceased  to  struggle,  but  into  her  face  and 
voice  came  something  which  paralyzed  his  arms. 
Repentant  and  ashamed,  he  released  her  and 
stood  before  her  humbly,  while  she  denounced 
him  for  "a  rowdy  with  the  manners  of  a  burglar." 
"This  ends  our  acquaintance,"  she  added,  and 
she  spurned  the  book  on  the  floor  as  if  it  were  his 
worthless  self. 

He  was  scared  now,  and  boyishly  pleaded, 
"Don't  go — don't  be  angry;  I  was  only  joking." 

She  knew  better  than  this.  She  had  seen 
elemental  fire  flaming  from  his  eyes,  and  dared 
not  remain.  With  proud  lift  of  head  she  walked 
away,  leaving  him  penitent,  bewildered,  crushed. 

18 


XIV 

THE    ORDEAL 

IN  truth,  Victor  had  not  kept  his  head — how 
could  he  when  each  day  brought  some  new 
temptation,  some  unexpected  danger,  or  an  un 
foreseen  barrier  ?  Was  ever  such  a  week  of  trial 
and  perplexity  thrust  upon  a  youth?  And  the 
worst  of  it  lay  in  the  fact  that  there  were  no 
signs  of  a  release  from  these  baffling  foes.  Love's 
distress  now  came  to  add  to  his  bewilderment  and 
alarm. 

Leo  did  not  appear  at  luncheon,  and  her  ab 
sence  gave  him  great  uneasiness  till  Mrs.  Joyce 
explained  that  she  had  only  gone  to  town  to 
fetch  some  needed  clothing.  He  still  carried 
the  little  breast-pin  in  his  pocket,  but  it  no  longer 
seemed  the  gage  of  a  lovely  girl's  affection.  He 
began  to  admit  that  he  might  be  mistaken,  and 
that  his  dream- woman  and  the  jewel  had  no 
necessary  connection .  * '  One  of  the  servants  may 
have  dropped  it  there,"  he  now  admitted;  "and 
yet  how  could  that  be  ?  It  was  under  my  pillow 
when  I  woke,  and  I  am  sure  it  was  not  there 
when  I  went  to  sleep.  Perhaps  I  am  the  one 

262 


THE  ORDEAL 

who  walks  in  sleep.  Can  it  be  possible  that  I 
took  it  from  her  room  ?" 

It  was  all  very  puzzling,  but  he  no  longer  pos 
sessed  the  fatuous  self-conceit  necessary  to 
charge  Leo  with  such  self-abandonment  as  the 
dream  and  the  discovery  of  the  brooch  had  at 
first  seemed  to  indicate.  He  sat  among  his 
elders  at  table,  silent  and  depressed,  very  far 
from  the  triumphant  mood  of  the  morning,  and 
yet  the  stream  of  his  admiration  set  toward  the 
absent  one  with  ever  stronger  current.  The  most 
important  thing  in  all  the  world,  at  the  moment, 
was  the  winning  of  her  forgiving  smile. 

Bartol  was  equally  distraught,  and  though  he 
remained  politely  attentive  to  his  guests,  he  was 
plainly  absorbed  by  some  inner  problem,  and 
left  to  Mrs.  Joyce  the  burden  of  the  conversation. 

Mrs.  Ollnee,  listless  and  remote,  glanced  at 
her  host  occasionally  in  the  manner  of  one  who 
awaits  an  expected  sign.  To  her  son  this  atti 
tude  on  her  part  was  repellant,  for  he  under 
stood  it  to  mean  that  she  was  neither  mother 
nor  guest,  but  an  instrument.  He  wondered 
whether  Bartol  had  not,  by  some  overmastering 
power  of  the  mind,  already  assumed  control  of 
her  thoughts  as  well  as  of  her  actions;  and  he 
chafed  under  the  pressure  of  his  host's  abstrac 
tion.  "Oh,  why  can't  she  quit  this  business? 
She  must  stop  it!"  he  furiously  declared. 

Altogether  they  made  a  serious  and  restrained 
company,  and  all  felt  the  loss  of  Leo.  As  the 

263 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

meal  progressed  Mrs.  Joyce  tried  to  secure  from 
Bartol  some  notion  of  what  his  plans  were,  and 
he  gravely  replied: 

* '  None  of  you  must  know.  No  one  shall  enter 
my  'ghost-room'  till  I  am  ready  for  my  tests. 
In  fact,  I  think  I  shall  send  you  all  out  for  a 
drive  this  afternoon  so  that  you  may  not  even 
hear  the  tap  of  a  hammer." 

Victor  protested  that  he  ought  to  study,  and 
to  this  Bartol  replied :  ' '  Very  well.  Take  a  book 
with  you,  but  go  off  the  farm.  I  want  to  be  able 
to  say  that  not  one  of  the  persons  most  interested 
were  on  the  place  while  my  preparations  were 
going  on." 

In  truth,  the  man  of  law  was  not  merely  puz 
zled  by  the  method  of  transmitting  the  mes 
sages;  he  had  been  profoundly  affected  by  the 
words  themselves.  His  wife  and  daughter  had 
apparently  spoken  to  him  again,  each  in  dis 
tinctive  way,  upon  matters  which  no  one  but 
himself  could  recognize. 

But  it  was  not  alone  what  he  had  himself  seen 
and  heard  and  felt.  The  reading  to  which  he  had 
set  himself  had  opened  a  new  world  of  science 
for  him.  He  was  amazed  at  the  enormous 
amount  of  direct  evidence  gathered  and  pre 
sented  by  careful  men.  Chemists  applying  the 
methods  of  the  retort,  biologists  working  in  their 
own  laboratories,  psychologists  and  medical 
experts  experimenting  as  upon  a  clinical  sub 
ject,  presented  the  same  or  similar  facts.  In 

264 


THE  ORDEAL 

Austria,  in  Russia,  in  England,  the  results  were 
identical.  To  his  mind,  accustomed  to  sift  and 
relate  evidence,  the  most  convincing  thing  of  all 
was  the  substantial  agreement  of  each  and  all  of 
these  investigators.  In  a  certain  sense  the  sneer 
of  the  faithful  was  deserved.  These  men  of 
X-ray  penetration  and  electrical  annunciators  had 
succeeded  only  in  paralleling  the  phenomena  of 
the  early  days  of  the  healer  and  the  magician. 

At  its  lowest  terms — or,  as  some  would  say, 
at  its  highest  terms — Mrs.Ollnee's  power  was  re 
lated  to  a  sort  of  transcendental  physics.  Her 
magic  refilled  the  most  ordinary  block  of  wood 
or  crumb  of  granite  with  all  its  ancient  potency. 
It  widened  and  deepened  the  physical  universe 
inimitably.  It  discovered  the  human  organism 
to  be  unspeakably  subtle  and  complicate,  and 
made  of  the  soul  a  visible  demonstrable  entity. 
Unthinkably  swift  as  are  the  vibrations  of  the 
radium  ray,  this  substance  called  the  brain  is 
capable  of  receiving,  recording,  giving  off  still 
more  intricate  and  marvelous  motions.  Of 
what  avail  to  call  it  " material"  ? 

At  times  he  glimpsed  (as  through  a  narrow 
opening)  unknown  regions  of  space,  not  of  three 
or  four  dimensions,  but  an  infinite  number  of 
worlds  within  worlds  interpenetrating,  undying, 
yet  forever  changing.  At  such  moments  he  per 
ceived  that  the  scientists  of  to-day  were  but 
children  groping  among  the  set  scenery  of  a  dark 
stage,  their  text-books  like  their  Bibles,  the 

265 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

records  of  the  bewildered  and  stumbling  myriads 
of  the  past. 

"How  absurd,"  he  said,  "to  attempt  to  make 
the  present  conform  with  the  past !  The  Hebrew 
scriptures,  the  Vedas,  the  Sagas  of  the  North, 
are  all  useful  as  records  of  the  aspirations  of 
primitive  men,  but  the  real  understanding  of 
the  universe  is  to  be  obtained  now  or  in  the 
future.  The  present  contains  all  that  the  past 
has  possessed  and  more.  Men  are  less  of  the 
beast  and  more  of  the  spirit.  Their  powers  have 
intensified,  grown  psychic,  compelling,  revealing, 
and  yet  the  mystery  of  the  universe  remains  and 
must  remain." 

In  such  ways  and  others  his  mind  ran  as  he 
read  swiftly  through  the  wondrous  record  of 
experiments  made  in  Rome,  in  Naples,  in  Milan. 
He  liked  these  Italians  better  than  the  great 
est  of  the  Englishmen  for  the  reason  that  they 
uttered  no  apology  to  the  Pope.  They  pro 
ceeded  on  the  assumption  that  they  were  biolo 
gists,  not  priests.  They  had  no  care  whether  their 
discoveries  harmonized  with  some  man's  Bible, 
or  whether  they  did  not.  The  question  was 
simple:  Could  the  human  organism  put  forth 
from  itself  a  supernumerary  hand  or  arm? 
Could  it  project  an  etheric  double  of  itself? 
Could  it  interpenetrate  matter? 

Along  these  lines  he  proposed  (with  Victor's 
aid)  to  study  his  psychic  guest.  He  had  lost 
sight  of  the  fact  that  he  was  to  be  her  defender 

266 


THE   ORDEAL 

in  court — or  if  he  remembered  it,  it  was  only 
as  a  secondary  consideration.  He  had  no  faint 
est  hope  of  directly  proving  the  continued  exist 
ence  of  his  wife  and  children;  but  he  could  see 
that  a  demonstration  of  the  power  of  the  living 
body  to  project  and  maintain  at  a  distance  an 
etheric  brain,  a  voice,  made  (by  inference)  a  be 
lief  in  immortality  possible. 

This  belief,  this  possible  life  of  the  soul,  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  systems  of  celestial  cos 
mogony  built  up  by  the  followers  of  Christ  or 
Gautama,  its  world  was  not  peopled  with  angels, 
gods,  or  devils ;  it  was  merely  another  and  inter 
fusing  material  region  wherein  the  spirit  of  man 
could  move,  retaining  at  least  a  dim  memory 
of  the  grosser  material  plane  from  which  it  fled. 
It  was  inconceivable,  of  course,  when  scrutinized 
directly;  but  he  caught  a  glint  of  its  wonders 
now  and  then,  as  if  from  the  corner  of  his  half- 
closed  eye. 

These  physical  marvels  were  kept  very  near  to 
him,  as  he  sat  at  his  desk,  by  minute  tappings  on 
his  penholder,  on  his  chair-back,  and  by  fairy 
chimes  rung  on  the  cut-glass  decanter  at  his 
elbow.  At  times  he  felt  the  light  touch  of 
hands,  and  once,  as  he  returned  to  his  seat  after 
a  visit  to  the  library,  he  found  a  sheet  of  strange 
parchment  thrust  under  his  book,  and  on  this 
was  written  in  exquisite  old-fashioned  script: 
"Thou  hast  thy  comfort  and  thy  instrument.  Hold 
not  thy  hand."  And  it  was  signed  "Aurelius." 

267 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

This  was  all  very  startling;  but  he  referred  it 
to  Mrs.  Ollnee  herself.  To  imagine  it  a  direct 
message  from  the  dead  was  beyond  him. 

At  four  o'clock  the  road-wagon  brought  from 
the  station  a  small,  alert,  and  business-like  young 
fellow,  accompanied  by  various  boxes,  parcels, 
and  bags.  Bartol  met  him  at  the  door  and  took 
him  at  once  to  his  study.  Neither  of  them  was 
seen  again  till  dinner-time. 

The  servants  were  profoundly  excited  by  all 
this,  but  were  too  well  trained  to  betray  their 
curiosity  above  stairs.  They  knew  now  who 
Mrs.  Ollnee  was,  but  they  believed  in  their 
master's  government  and  listened  to  the  ham 
mering  in  the  study  with  impassive  faces — while 
at  their  duties  in  the  hall  or  dining-room — but 
permitted  themselves  endless  conjecture  in  their 
own  quarters.  Marie  alone  took  no  part  in  these 
discussions,  though  she  seemed  more  excited 
than  any  of  the  others. 

Meanwhile,  Victor  watched  and  waited  in  a 
fever  of  anxiety  for  Leo's  return.  At  five 
o'clock  she  came,  but  went  directly  to  her 
room. 

Marie  met  her  tense  with  excitement.  "Oh, 
Miss  Leo,  Master  has  asked  me  to  sit  in  the  circle 
to-night,  and  I'm  scared." 

"You  mean  Mr.  Bartol  has  asked  you?" 

"Yes— Miss." 

"Well,  you  should  feel  exalted,  Marie.  It 
will  be  a  wonderful  experience." 

268 


THE    ORDEAL 

"I  suppose  so,  Miss,  but  my  hands  are  all  cold 
and  my  stomach  sick  with  thinking  of  it." 

Leo  laughed.  "You're  psychic,  that's  what's 
the  matter  with  you." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so!" 

' '  Let  me  take  your  hands."  Marie  gave  them. 
Leo  smiled.  "Cold  and  wet!  Yes,  you  are  it! 
But  don't  let  it  interfere  with  dinner.  I'm 
hungry  as  a  bear.  Cheer  up.  I'd  give  anything 
to  be  a  psychic." 

"I  shall  flunk  it,  Miss;  I  can't  go  through  it, 
really." 

"Nonsense!     It  will  be  good  as  a  play." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  others  came  in,  and  Leo 
heard  Victor's  voice  in  the  hall  with  a  feeling 
of  distaste.  She  had  gone  out  to  him  during 
that  moonlit  walk,  and  was  suffering  now  a 
natural  revulsion.  It  had  not  been  love;  it  had 
been  (she  admitted)  only  physical  attraction, 
and  the  fault,  the  weakness,  had  been  hers.  His 
presuming  upon  her  moment  of  compliance  was 
of  the  nature  of  man.  It  had  frightened  her  to 
discover  such  deeps  within  herself.  "We  are  all 
animals  at  bottom,"  she  charged,  in  the  un 
natural  cynicism  of  youth. 

Notwithstanding  this  mood,  she  clothed  her 
self  handsomely  in  a  gown  which  lent  beauty 
to  the  exceedingly  dignified  role  she  designed  to 
play,  and  so  costumed  went  to  her  aunt's  room 
to  hear  the  news. 

Mrs.  Joyce  was  lying  down,  and  her  voice 
269 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

sounded  tired  as  she  said:  "We  were  ordered 
out  of  the  house  at  three,  and  have  been  driving 
ever  since.  Alexander,  so  Marie  says,  has  had 
strange  men  working  all  the  afternoon  on  some 
contrivance  in  his  study.  Evidently  he  is  going 
to  be  very  scientific." 

Leo  exclaimed  with  delight.  "Now  we'll  see 
if  these  faces  and  forms  are  real  or  not." 

"Why,  Leo!     Do  you  doubt?" 

"Yes,  deep  in  my  heart  I  do.  I  cannot  quite 
free  myself  from  the  belief  that  in  some  way 
Lucy  produces  all  these  effects." 

"Of  course  she  transmits  them.  She's  a 
medium." 

"I  don't  mean  it  that  way — and  I  don't  mean 
that  she  cheats;  but  somehow  I  never  feel  as  if 
anything  real  came  to  me  direct." 

Mrs.  Joyce  did  not  feel  able  to  pursue  this  line 
of  argument.  "What's  the  matter  between  you 
and  Victor?" 

"Who  told  you  anything  was  the  matter?" 

"I  sensed  it." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  sense  the  cause ?" 

"He's  a  nice  boy;  you  mustn't  ill-treat  him, 
Leo." 

"Your  solicitude  is  misplaced;  you  should  be 
concerned  about  me." 

"You?  Trust  you  to  take  care  of  yourself! 
I  never  knew  a  more  self -sufficient  young  person. 
I  am  only  waiting  for  some  man  to  teach  you 
your  place." 

270 


THE  ORDEAL 

This  was  a  frequent  subject  of  very  plain 
though  jocular  allusion  between  them.  "A  man 
may — some  time — but  not  a  rowdy  boy.  '  *  How 
does  Lucy  take  the  promise  of  a  test?'* 

"Very  calmly.  She  is  relying  wholly  on  her 
'  band '  to  protect  her.  She  feels  the  importance 
of  the  trial,  and  does  not  shrink  from  it." 

The  Miss  Wood  whom  Victor  met  as  he  en 
tered  the  dining-room  that  night  was  precisely 
the  young  lady  he  had  first  seen,  a  calm,  smiling, 
superior  person  who  looked  down  upon  him  with 
good-humored  tolerance  of  his  youth  and  sex, 
putting  him  into  the  position  of  the  bad  little 
boy  who  has  promised  not  to  do  so  again.  She 
not  merely  loftily  forgave  him,  she  had  apparent 
ly  minimized  the  offense,  and  this  hurt  worst  of 
all.  "I'm  sorry  not  to  have  been  able  to  work 
to-day,"  she  said;  "but  I  really  had  to  go  to 
town." 

This  lofty,  elderly  sister  air  after  her  com 
pliance  to  his  arm  eventually  angered  him.  His 
awe,  his  gratitude  of  the  morning  were  turned 
into  the  man's  desire  to  be  master.  He  set  his 
jaws  in  sullen  slant  and  bided  his  time.  "You 
can't  treat  me  in  this  way  when  we're  alone," 
he  said,  beneath  h  s  breath. 

Later  he  was  hurt  by  her  vivid  interest  in  the 
young  inventor,  whom  Bartol  introduced  as 
Stinchfield.  He  was  a  small  man  with  a  round, 
red  face  and  laughing  blue  eyes,  but  he  spoke 
with  authority.  His  knowledge  was  amazing 

271 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

for  its  wide  grasp,  but  especially  for  its  precision. 
He  guessed  at  nothing;  he  knew — or  if  he  did 
not  know  he  said  so  frankly.  In  the  few  short 
years  of  his  professional  career  he  had  been  asso 
ciated  with  some  of  the  greatest  masters  of 
matter.  His  acquaintances  were  all  men  of 
exact  information  and  trained  judgment,  men 
who  lived  amid  physical  miracles  and  wrought 
epics  in  steel  and  stone. 

Naturally  he  absorbed  the  attention  of  the 
table,  for  in  answer  to  questions  he  touched  upon 
his  career,  and  his  talk  was  absorbing.  He  had 
been  a  year  at  Panama.  He  had  helped  to  sur 
vey  the  route  for  a  vast  Colorado  irrigating 
tunnel,  and  in  his  spare  moments  had  perfected 
a  number  of  important  inventions  in  automobile 
construction. 

It  was  for  all  these  reasons  that  Bartol  had 
'phoned  him,  urging  him  to  come  out  and  assist 
in  the  infinitely  more  important  work  of  reduc 
ing  to  law  the  phenomena  which  sprang,  appar 
ently  without  rule  or  reason,  from  the  trances 
of  his  latest  and  most  interesting  client.  "Here 
is  your  chance  to  get  a  grip  on  the  phenomena 
that  have  puzzled  the  world  for  centuries,"  he 
said. 

When  Mrs.  Joyce  asked  Stinchfield  if  he  knew 
anything  about  spirit  phenomena,  he  replied, 
candidly : 

"Not  a  thing,  directly,  Mrs.  Joyce.  Of  course 
I  have  read  a  good  deal,  but  I  have  never  ex- 

272 


THE   ORDEAL 

perimented.  It  is  not  easy  to  secure  co-opera 
tion  on  the  part  of  those  gifted  with  these  powers. 
The  trouble  seems  to  be  they  consider  them 
selves  in  a  sense  priests,  keepers  of  a  faith,  where 
as  I  have  the  natural  tendency  to  think  of  them 
in  terms  of  physics." 

Bartol,  smiling,  raised  a  hand.  "I  don't  want 
the  company  drawn  into  controversy.  Experts 
agree  that  argument  defeats  a  psychic." 

Mrs.  Ollnee  still  wore  the  look  of  one  who  but 
half  listens  to  what  is  said,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  slyly 
touched  her  hand  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 
"Do  you  want  to  go  to  your  room?"  she 
asked. 

Mrs.  Ollnee  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  am  all 
right." 

"We  will  have  better  results  if  we  'cut  out* 
desert,"  Mrs.  Joyce  explained  to  Bartol.  "Over 
eating  has  spoiled  many  a  seance." 

"Is  it  as  physical  as  that?"  exclaimed  Stinch- 
field. 

"I  never  eat  when  I  am  on  a  hard  case,"  said 
Bartol. 

Victor  began  to  awaken  to  the  crucial  nature 
of  the  test  which  was  about  to  be  made  of  his 
mother's  powers.  This  laughing  young  physicist 
was  precisely  the  sort  of  man  to  put  the  screws 
severely  on.  It  was  all  a  problem  in  mechanics 
for  him.  Whether  the  psychic  suffered  or  re 
joiced  in  the  operation  did  not  concern  him.  "If 
she  is  deceiving  us  in  any  way  he  will  discover 

273 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

it,"  the  son  forecasted,  with  a  feeling  of  fear  at 
his  heart.     "And  yet  how  can  I  defend  her?" 

Bartol  said  to  Mrs.  Ollnee:  "Would  you  mind 
dressing  for  the  performance?  I'd  like  you  to 
go  with  Mrs.  Joyce  and  Marie,  and  clothe  your 
self  in  all  black  if  possible,  so  that  I  can  say  you 
came  into  my  study  not  merely  searched,  but 
re-clothed." 

She  said,  quite  simply:  "I  have  no  objection 
at  all.  I  am  in  your  hands." 

After  the  older  women  left  the  room  Victor 
drew  near  to  Leo  with  a  low  word.  "Poor  little 
mother!  she  is  in  the  hands  of  the  inquisition 
to-night." 

Thrilling  to  the  excitement  of  the  hour,  she 
forgot  her  resentful  superior  pose.  "Isn't  that 
little  man  magnificent?  Why  didn't  you  go  in 
for  civil  engineering  or  chemistry?" 

"Because  no  one  had  sense  enough  to  advise 
me,"  he  bitterly  answered. 

"Think  where  that  funny  little  body  has  car 
ried  that  head,"  she  continued,  still  studying 
Stinchfield.  "If  he  had  only  been  given  shoul 
ders  like  yours — 

"I'm  glad  you  like  something  about  me." 

"I  was  speaking  of  your  body  as  a  machine 
for  carrying  a  brain  around  over  the  earth." 

"You  seem  to  think  of  me  as  having  no 
brain." 

"Oh,  not  quite  so  bad  as  that.  You  have  a 
brain,  but  it's  undeveloped." 

274 


THE  ORDEAL 

"I'm  growing  up  rapidly  these  days.  Seems 
like  I'd  lived  a  year  since  our  walk  last  night." 

She  colored  a  little.  ''Forget  that  and  I'll 
forgive  you." 

"I  can't  forget  that." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  the  tests  are  to  be ?" 
she  asked,  in  an  effort  to  change  the  subject. 

"No,  I'm  outside  of  it  all.  I  hope  they  won't 
scare  my  poor  little  mother  out  of  her  senses. 
Ought  I  to  step  in  and  stop  it?" 

"No,  not  unless  The  Voices  say  so.  They 
welcome  investigation — so  they've  always  said. 
What  I  should  insist  on,  if  I  were  you,  is  plenty 
of  time  and  a  series  of  sittings." 

She  was  speaking  now  in  gracious  mood,  and 
he,  eager  to  win  from  her  a  fuller  expression  of 
forgiveness,  spoke  again,  bravely.  "I  hope  you 
are  not  going  to  be  angry  with  me?" 

"Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  with  disheartening, 
impersonal  cordiality.  "I  was  partly  to  blame. 
1  forgot  you  were  a  hot-headed  boy." 

''Don't  take  that  tone  with  me — I  won't  stand 
it!' 

'How  can  you  help  it?"  she  answered,  with  a 
smile,  and  moved  toward  the  end  of  the  table 
where  Bartol  and  Stinchfield  still  sat  smoking  and 
leisurely  sipping  their  coffee. 

The  little  engineer  sprang  up  as  she  drew  near, 
and  stood  like  a  soldier  at  attention  as  she  said, 
"Are  you  in  merciless  mood  to-night,  Mr. 
Stinchfield?" 

275 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S   DISCIPLINE 

"Far  from  it,"  he  responded.  "I'm  in  a  re 
ceptive  mood.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Bartol  has 
found  enough  in  this  subject  to  wish  to  investi 
gate  predisposes  me  to  open-mindedness." 

"Suppose  we  go  into  the  library,"  suggested 
Bartol,  and  they  all  followed  him  across  the  hall. 

Leo  walked  with  the  engineer,  leaving  Victor 
in  the  rear,  hurt  and  suffering  sorely. 

It  was  not  so  much  her  displayed  interest  in 
Stinchfield  as  her  haughty  disregard  of  himself 
that  touched  his  self-esteem.  Thereafter  he 
sulked  like  the  boy  she  declared  him  to  be. 

When  his  mother  came  in  robed  in  black  and 
looking  the  sad  young  widow  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  rebellion  against  the  whole  plan  of 
action,  but  he  kept  silence  while  Bartol  ex 
plained  his  design. 

"It  is  customary  for  'mediums'  to  have  things 
their  own  way,  but  in  this  case  Mrs.  Ollnee  has 
placed  herself  entirely  in  my  hands.  The  tests 
will  be  made  in  my  study.  He  turned  the  key 
and  unlocked  the  door.  "Mr.  Stinchfield  will 
enter  first  and  see  that  the  room  is  as  we  left  it." 

The  engineer  entered,  and  after  a  moment's 
survey  called :  "All  is  untouched.  Come  in." 

Bartol  led  the  way  with  Mrs.  Ollnee,  and  when 
Victor,  the  last  to  enter,  had  paced  slowly  over 
the  threshold  Stinchfield  locked  the  door  and 
handed  the  key  to  his  host.  The  inquisition  was 
begun. 

The  most  notable  furnishing  of  the  room  was 
276 


THE  ORDEAL 

a  battery  of  three  cameras,  so  arranged  that  they 
could  be  operated  instantaneously,  and  Mrs. 
Joyce  asked,  anxiously,  "Has  the  band  con 
sented  to  this?" 

''They  have  consented  to  a  trial,"  answered 
Mrs.  Ollnee,  in  a  faint  voice.  She  had  grown  very 
pale,  and  her  hands  were  trembling.  To  Victor 
this  seemed  like  the  tremor  of  terror,  and  his 
heart  was  aching  with  pity. 

On  one  side  of  the  room  a  deep  alcove  lined 
with  books  had  been  turned  into  a  dark-room 
by  means  of  curtains,  and  before  these  draperies 
stood  the  inevitable  wooden  table,  but  beside  it, 
inclosing  a  chair,  was  a  conical  cage  of  wire 
netting  encircled  by  bands  of  copper. 

Mrs.  Joyce  exclaimed,  "You  do  not  intend  to 
cage  her  in  that?" 

"That  is  my  intention,"  calmly  replied  Bartol. 

"Have  the  controls  consented?"  asked  Mrs. 
Joyce. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Ollnee. 

Of  the  further  intricacies  of  Stinchfield's  prep 
aration  Victor  had  no  hint,  so  artfully  were 
they  concealed;  but  he  recognized  in  it  all  a 
kind  of  humorous  skepticism  (which  the  engineer 
radiated  in  spite  of  his  manifest  wish  to  appear 
respectful) ;  and  as  his  mother  entered  her  little 
torture  tent  Victor  said,  "You  needn't  do  this 
if  you  don't  want  to,  mother." 

"Your  father  commands  it,"  she  replied,  sub 
missively. 

19  277 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Stinchfield  screwed  the  cage  to  the  floor  and 
made  an  attachment  to  a  small  wire  which  ran 
along  the  book-case  to  a  dark  corner.  Victor 
was  enough  of  the  physicist  to  infer  that  his 
mother  was  now  surrounded  by  an  electric 
current. 

Bartol  explained:  "We  are  to  start  in  total 
darkness,  and  then  we  intend  to  try  various 
degrees  and  colors  of  lights.  Mrs.  Ollnee,  how 
will  you  have  us  sit?" 

"I  want  Victor  opposite  me,  with  Leo  at 
his  right  and  Louise  at  his  left.  Mr.  Stinch 
field  will  then  be  able  to  operate  his  wires.  You, 
Mr.  Bartol,  sit  at  Leo's  right  and  nearest  the 
cage."  Her  voice  was  now  quite  firm,  and  her 
manner  decided.  "All  sit  at  the  table  for  a 
time." 

Stinchfield  snapped  out  the  lights,  one  by  one, 
till  only  two,  one  red,  the  other  green,  struggled 
against  the  darkness.  When  these  went  out  the 
room  was  perfectly  black. 

Bartol  then  said:  "In  the  cabinet  behind  the 
medium  is  a  self -registering  column  of  mercury, 
a  typewriter,  and  a  switch,  which  will  light  a 
lamp  which  hangs  in  the  ceiling  above  the 
cabinet,  and  which  has  no  other  connection. 
The  psychic  is  inclosed  in  a  mesh  of  steel  wire 
too  fine  to  permit  the  putting  forth  of  a  finger. 
If  the  lamp  is  lighted,  the  column  of  mercury 
lifted,  or  the  typewriter  keys  depressed,  it  will 
be  by  some  supra-normal  power  of  the  medium. 

278 


THE  ORDEAL 

There  is  also  on  a  table  just  inside  the  curtains, 
with  paper  and  pencils,  a  small  tin  trumpet,  a 
bell,  and  a  zither  upon  it.  If  possible,  we  wish 
to  obtain  a  written  message  independent  of  Mrs. 
Ollnee." 

"It  is  the  unexpected  that  happens,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Joyce.  "Shall  we  clasp  hands, 
Lucy?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Ollnee. 

Victor,  reaching  for  Leo's  hand,  tingled  with 
something  not  scientific,  a  current  of  something 
subtler  than  electricity  which  came  from  her 
palm.  He  thought  he  detected  in  her  fingers  a 
returning  warmth  of  grasp. 

"They  are  here,"  announced  Mrs.  Joyce,  after 
some  ten  minutes  of  silence. 

"Who  are  here?"  asked  Bartol. 

"My  band — and  many  others." 

"How  can  you  tell?" 

"I  hear  them."  A  faint  whisper  soon  distin 
guished  itself,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  reported  that  Mr. 
Blodgett  was  speaking.  "He  says  he  realizes 
the  importance  of  this  test,  and  that  he  has  sum 
moned  all  the  most  powerful  of  the  spirits  within 
reach,  and  that  they  will  do  all  they  can.  He 
says  the  wire  cage  is  a  new  condition,  but  they 
will  meet  it.  Be  patient;  the  strain  on  Lucy  is 
very  great,  but  it  cannot  be  avoided." 

In  the  silence  which  followed  this  conversation 
Leo  shuddered  and  clutched  Victor's  hand  as  if  for 
protection.  "The  other  world  is  opening.  Don't 

279 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

you  feel  it?"     She  whispered.     "I  can  hear  the 
rustle  of  wings." 

He,  growing  very  tense  himself,  answered:  "I 
feel  only  my  mother's  anxiety.  Are  you  com 
fortable,  mother?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  said,  "She 
is  asleep."  And  all  became  silent  again. 

' '  Hello !"  exclaimed  Stinchfield.  '  'Who  touched 
me?" 

"No  one  in  the  circle,"  answered  Mrs.  Joyce, 
highly  elated. 

"I  certainly  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder — 
there  it  comes  again !  Shall  I  flash  my  camera  ?" 

"Not  now!"  came  a  clear,  full  whisper,  ap 
parently  from  the  cabinet.  ' '  You  would  fail  now. 
Wait." 

"Who  spoke?"  asked  Bartol. 

As  there  was  no  reply,  Mrs.  Joyce  asked,  "Is 
it  you,  Mr.  Blodgett?" 

"No!"  the  whisper  replied. 

"Is  it  Watts?" 

"Yes." 

"It  is  Isaac  Watts.  Now  it  is  his  science 
against  yours,  Mr.  Stinchfield." 

Bartol  fell  into  the  mode  at  once.  "We  are 
glad  to  be  so  honored.  Now  Watts,  I  want — 
and  I  must  have — incontestable  proof  of  the 
psychic's  abnormal  power — nothing  else  can 
save  her  from  State  prison.  Do  you  realize 
that?" 

"We  do." 

280 


THE  ORDEAL 

"Very  well,  proceed." 

"What  would  you  call  incontestable  proof?" 

' '  I  should  say  a  registered  pressure  on  the  key 
or  the  lighting  of  the  lamp  above  the  cabinet — " 

A  vivid  red  flash  lit  up  the  room.  Stinchfield 
shouted,  "The  lamp — the  lamp  was  lit!" 

His  excitement,  to  all  but  Bartol,  was  ludi 
crously  high,  and  Mrs.  Joyce  openly  chuckled. 
"What  else  do  you  want  done,  Mr.  Science?" 

"Writing  independent  of  Mrs.  Ollnee,"  replied 
Bartol. 

After  a  long  and  painful  silence  the  bell 
tinkled  faintly,  and  as  all  listened  breathlessly 
the  zither  began  to  play. 

"Now  who  is  doing  that  ?"  asked  the  engineer. 

"Turn  on  the  green  light!"  suggested  the 
Voice. 

Stinchfield  lit  the  green  lamp,  and  by  its  glow 
the  psychic  was  seen  in  her  cage  reclining  limply, 
her  face  ghostly  white  in  the  light.  Bartol 
looked  about  the  circle.  Every  hand  was  in 
view,  and  yet  the  zither  continued  to  play  its 
weird  and  wistful  little  tune.  Leo  and  Mrs. 
Joyce  took  this  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  the 
men  sat  in  rigid  amazement. 

"Lights  out!"  whispered  the  Voice. 

Stinchfield  put  out  his  lamp.  "That  is  as 
tounding,"  he  said.  "I  cannot  analyze  that." 

"Will  you  swear  the  psychic  did  not  do  it?" 
asked  the  Voice. 

The  engineer  hesitated.  "Yes,"  he  finally  said. 
281 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Is  this  sufficient?"  asked  the  unseen. 

Bartol  replied.  "Sufficient  for  my  argument; 
but  I  do  not  understand  these  physical  effects, 
and  the  jury  may  demand  other  proof.  It  will 
be  necessary  for  us  to  show  that  the  messages 
which  misled,  as  well  as  those  which  comforted, 
came  from  some  power  outside  the  psychic  and 
beyond  her  control.  I  believe  that,  as  in  the 
case  of  Anna  Rothe — condemned  by  a  German 
court  to  a  long  term  of  imprisonment — the 
charge  of  imposture  and  swindling  made  against 
Mrs.  Ollnee  must  lie,  unless  I  can  demonstrate 
that  these  messages  come  from  her  subconscious 
self  in  some  occult  way,  or  from  personalities 
other  than  herself.  In  fact,  the  whole  case 
against  Mrs.  Ollnee  lies  in  the  question — does 
she  believe  in  The  Voices  as  entities  existing  and 
acting  outside  herself— 

He  interrupted  himself  to  say :  ' '  Something  is 
tapping  my  hand .  It  feels  like  the  small  tin  horn . ' ' 

"It  is!"  came  the  answer  in  such  volume  that 
it  could  be  heard  all  over  the  room. 

"Does  this  not  prove  the  medium  innocent  of 
ventriloquism  T  ' 

"  Stinchfield— what  about  this?"  asked  Bartol. 

The  engineer  could  only  repeat:  "I  don't 
understand  it.  It  is  out  of  my  range." 

Again  the  red  lamp  above  the  cabinet  flashed, 
and  by  its  momentary  glow  the  horn  was  seen 
floating  high  over  the  cage,  in  which  the  medium 
sat  motionless  and  ghastly  white. 

282 


THE  ORDEAL 

"Shall  I  flashlight  that?"  asked  Stinchfield 
again. 

"No,"  answered  the  Voice .  ' '  The  flashlight  is 
very  dangerous.  We  must  use  it  only  for  the 
supreme  thing.  Be  patient!" 

There  was  no  longer  any  spirit  of  jocularity 
in  the  room.  Each  one  acknowledged  the  pres 
ence  of  something  profoundly  mysterious,  some 
thing  capable  of  transforming  physical  science 
frbm  top  to  bottom,  something  so  far-reaching 
in  its  effect  on  law  and  morals  as  to  benumb  the 
faculties  of  those  who  perceived  it.  It  was  in 
no  sense  a  religious  awe  with  Bartol ;  it  was  the 
humbleness  which  comes  to  the  greatest  minds 
as  they  confront  the  unknowable  deeps  of  matter 
and  of  space. 

The  boy  and  girl  forgot  their  names,  their  sex. 
They  touched  hands  as  two  infinitely  small  in 
sects  mght  do  in  the  impenetrable  night  of  their 
world  (their  hates  as  unimportant  as  their  loves) , 
Only  the  bereaved  wife  and  mother  leaned  for 
ward  with  the  believer's  full  faith  in  the  heaven 
from  which  the  beloved  forms  of  her  dead  were 
about  to  issue. 

Suddenly  the  curtains  of  the  alcove  opened, 
disclosing  a  narrow  strip  of  some  glowing  white 
substance.  It  was  not  metal,  and  it  was  not 
drapery.  It  was  something  not  classified  in 
science,  and  Stinchfield  stared  at  it  with  analytic 
eyes,  talking  under  breath  to  Bartol.  "It  is  not 
phosphorus,  but  like  it.  I  wonder  if  it  emits  heat  ?" 

283 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

Mrs.  Joyce  explained:  "It  is  the  half -opened 
door  into  the  celestial  plane.  I  saw  a  face  look 
ing  out." 

This  light  vanished  as  silently  as  it  came,  and 
the  zither  began  to  play  again,  and  a  multitude 
of  fairy  voices — like  a  splendid  chorus  heard  far 
down  a  shining  hall — sang  exquisitely  but  sadly 
an  unknown  anthem.  While  still  the  men  of 
law  and  science  listened  in  stupefaction  the  voices 
died  out,  and  the  zither,  still  playing,  rose  in  the 
air,  and  at  the  instant  when  it  was  sounding 
nearest  the  ceiling  the  red  lamp  above  the 
cabinet  was  again  lighted,  and  the  instrument, 
played  by  two  faintly  perceived  hands,  continued 
floating  in  the  air. 

Silent, open-mouthed,  staring,  Stinchfield  heard 
the  zither  descend  to  the  table  before  him. 
Then  he  awoke.  "I  must  photograph  that!" 

"Not  yet,"  insisted  the  Voice.  "Wait  for  a 
more  important  sign" 

In  Victor's  mind  a  complete  revulsion  to  faith 
had  come.  His  heart  went  out  in  a  rush  of  re 
morseful  tenderness  and  awe.  The  last  lingering 
doubt  of  his  mother  disappeared.  Like  a  flash 
of  lightning  memory  swept  back  over  his  past. 
All  he  had  seen  and  heard  of  the  "ghost-room" 
stood  revealed  in  a  pure  white  light.  "It  was 
all  true — all  of  it.  She  has  never  deceived  me  or 
any  one  else;  she  is  wonderful  and  pure  as  an 
angel!"  Incredible  as  were  the  effects  he  had 
seen,  and  which  he  had  rejected  as  unconscious 

284 


THE  ORDEAL 

trickery,  not  one  of  them  was  more  destructive 
of  the  teaching  of  his  books  than  this  vision  of 
the  zither  played  high  in  the  air  by  sad,  sweet 
hands.  He  longed  to  clasp  his  mother  to  his 
bosom  to  ask  her  forgiveness,  but  his  throat 
choked  with  an  emotion  he  could  not  utter. 

Bartol,  with  tense  voice,  said  to  Stinchfield: 
"We  have  succeeded  in  paralleling  Crookes'  ex 
periment.  With  this  alone  I  can  save  her." 

The  flash  of  radiance  from  the  cabinet  inter 
rupted  him,  and  a  new  voice — an  imperative 
voice — called : 

"Green  light/19 

Stinchfield  turned  his  switch,  and  there  in  the 
glow  of  the  lamp  stood  a  tall  female  figure  with 
pale,  sweet,  oval  face  and  dark,  mysterious  eyes. 

"It  is  Altair!"  exclaimed  Leo. 

Victor  shivered  with  awe  and  exalted  admira 
tion,  for  the  eyes  seemed  to  look  straight  at  him. 
The  room  was  filled  with  that  familiar  unac 
countable  odor,  and  a  cold  wind  blew  as  before 
from  the  celestial  visitant,  with  suggestions  of 
limitless  space  and  cold,  white  light. 

"Be  faithful,"  the  sweet  Voice  said.  "Do  not 
grieve.  Do  your  work.  Good-by." 

The  vision  lasted  but  an  instant,  but  in  that 
moment  Stinchfield  and  Bartol  both  perceived 
the  psychic  in  her  electric  prison,  lying  like  a 
corpse  with  lolling  head  and  ghostly,  sunken 
cheeks.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  half  her  bulk ; 
like  a  partly  filled  garment  she  draped  her  chair. 

285 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

The  engineer  spoke  in  a  voice  soft,  pleading, 
husky  with  excitement.  "May  I  flashlight 
now?" 

"Not  that — but  this!"  uttered  a  man's  voice, 
and  forth  from  the  cabinet  a  faintly  luminous 
mist  appeared. 

"Red  lamp!" 

In  the  glow  of  the  sixteen-candle-power  light 
the  face  of  a  bearded  man  was  plainly  seen.  It 
wore  a  look  of  grave  expectancy. 

"Shall  I  fire?"  asked  Stinchneld. 

"It  may  destroy  our  instrument"  answered  the 
figure.  "But  proceed" 

The  blinding  flash  which  followed  was  accom 
panied  by  a  cry,  followed  by  a  moan,  and  Lucy 
Ollnee  was  heard  to  topple  from  her  chair  to 
the  floor.  In  the  moment  of  horrified  silence 
which  followed  the  Voice  commanded: 

"Be  silent!  Do  not  stir!  Turn  off  your  cur 
rent" 

In  his  excitement  Stinchfield  turned  off  both 
light  and  current,  and  left  the  whole  room  in 
darkness.  Victor  was  on  his  feet  crying  out: 
' *  She  has  fallen !  She  is  dying !' ' 

"Stay  where  you  are,  my  son.  Keep  the  room 
dark.  We  will  take  care  of  your  mother" 

So  absolute  was  his  faith  at  the  moment, 
Victor  resumed  his  seat,  though  he  was  trembling 
with  fear.  Leo  reached  for  his  hand.  "Don't 
be  frightened.  They  will  care  for  her." 

"We  have  witnessed  the  miraculous,"  de- 
286 


THE  ORDEAL 

clared  Bartol,  stricken  into  irresolution  by  what 
had  taken  place. 

Mrs.  Joyce,  accustomed  to  these  marvels, 
added  her  word  of  warning.  "  Don't  go  to  her 
yet.  Spirits  are  all  about  her.  It  has  been  a 
terrible  shock,  but  they  will  heal  her." 

Stunned  silent,  baffled  by  what  he  had  seen, 
the  scientist  sat  with  his  hand  on  the  switches 
controlling  the  lights  ready  to  carry  out  the 
orders  of  his  invisible  colleague. 

"Red  light!"  commanded  the  Voice.  "Ap 
proach — quietly.  Victor,  take  charge  of  your 
mother's  body.  She  will  not  re-enter  it.  Her 
spirit  is  with  us." 

Victor  went  forward  and  knelt  in  agony  while 
the  engineer  lifted  the  cage  and  delivered  the 
unconscious  psychic  into  his  hands. 

Lucy  Ollnee  breathed  no  more.  She  had  died 
as  she  had  lived,  a  martyr  to  the  unseen  world. 

But  her  death  was  triumphant,  for  on  the 
sensitive  plate  of  each  camera  science  and  law 
were  able  to  read  the  proof  of  her  power.  In 
the  dark  face  of  his  grandsire  Victor  read  a  stern 
contempt  as  though  he  said : 

"Deny  and  still  deny.  In  the  end  you  must 
believe." 

In  the  alcove  on  the  pad  these  words  were 
written  in  his  mother's  hand:  "Do  not  grieve. 
My  work  is  done.  I  do  not  go  far.  I  shall  be 
near  to  cheer  and  guide  you.  Your  future  is 

287 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

secure.     Work  hard,  be  patient,  and  all  will  be 
well.     Farewell,  but  not  good-by" 

Below,  written  in  the  quaint  script  which 
Victor  recognized,  were  these  words:  "Men  of 
science  and  of  law,  blazon  forth  the  marvels  you 
have  seen  and  tested.  Make  the  world  ring  with 
them;  in  such  wise  will  you  advance  veneration  for 
God  and  remove  the  fear  of  death. 

"WATTS." 


XV 

THE   RING 

BARTOL  obeyed  the  command  of  the  invis 
ible  powers.  He  gladly  blazoned  the  trium 
phant  death  of  the  psychic  to  the  world.  Lucy 
Ollnee  became  at  once  a  glorious  martyr  for  her 
faith,  a  victim  of  science.  Liberal  journals  and 
religious  journals  alike  lamented  that  it  was 
necessary  for  the  sake  of  proof  as  regards  im 
mortality  "that  an  innocent  woman  should  be 
caged  and  tortured  to  death  with  electric  bat 
teries,"  and  even  the  Star,  leader  in  the  war 
against  the  mediums,  permitted  itself  an  editorial 
word  of  regret,  and  published  in  full  Bartol's 
letter,  and  also  a  long  interview  with  Stinch- 
field,  wherein  he  admitted  the  genuineness  of 
the  dead  woman's  claims  to  supra-normal  power. 
But  all  this  was,  at  the  moment,  of  small  com 
fort  to  Victor.  For  a  long  time  he  refused  to 
believe  in  the  reality  of  his  mother's  death,  in 
sisting  that  she  was  in  deep  trance  (as  she  had 
been  before) ;  but  at  last,  when  the  body  was 
to  be  removed  to  Mrs.  Joyce's  home  and  Doctor 
Steele  and  Doctor  Eberly  had  both  examined  it 

289 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

and  found  no  signs  of  life,  he  gave  up  all  hope 
of  her  return. 

Accompanied  by  Mrs.  Joyce,  he  visited  the 
California  Avenue  flat  for  the  last  time  to  pack 
up  the  few  things  of  value  which  his  mother  had 
been  permitted  to  acquire.  His  attitude  toward 
the  chairs,  the  slates,  the  old  table,  had  utterly 
changed.  They  were  now  instinct  with  his 
mother's  power,  permeated  with  some  part  of 
her  subtler  material  self,  and  he  was  minded  to 
preserve  them.  They  were  no  longer  the  tools 
of  a  conjuror;  they  were  the  sacred  relics  of  a 
priestess. 

Mrs.  Joyce  asked  permission  to  house  them 
for  him  till  he  had  secured  a  home  of  his  own, 
and  to  this  he  consented,  for  with  his  present 
feeling  concerning  them  he  was  troubled  by  the 
thought  of  their  being  stored  in  dark  vaults 
among  masses  of  commonplace  furniture. 

"I  shall  keep  the  table  in  my  own  room," 
said  Mrs.  Joyce.  "It  may  be  that  Lucy  will 
be  able  to  manifest  herself  to  me  through  it.  I 
have  been  promised  such  power." 

To  this  Victor  made  no  reply,  for  while  he  now 
believed  absolutely  in  all  that  his  mother  claimed 
to  do,  he  had  not  been  brought  to  a  belief  in  the 
return  of  the  dead,  and  it  was  this  fundamental 
doubt  which  made  his  grief  so  bitter.  "If  only 
she  could  know  that  I  believe  in  her,"  he  said  to 
Leo,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  when  his  mother's 
body  was  to  be  taken  away.  "Think  of  it! 

290 


THE   RING 

She  died  a  thousand  times  for  the  curious  and 
the  selfish,  only  to  be  called  an  impostor  and  a 
cheat — and  I,  her  only  son,  was  afraid  the  charge 
was  true.  If  only  I  could  have  told  her  that  I 
believed  in  her!" 

"She  knows,"  the  girl  gently  assured  him. 
They  were  seated  at  the  moment  in  the  library 
and  the  morning  was  very  warm  and  silent. 
The  birds  seemed  to  be  resting  in  prepara 
tion  for  their  evensong.  "Your  mother  is 
near  us  —  she  may  be  listening  to  us  this  min 
ute." 

"I  can't  believe  that,"  he  declared,  sadly. 
"I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  to  believe  it.  I  can't 
endure  the  thought  of  my  mother's  destruction, 
and  yet  the  notion  of  her  floating  about  some 
where  like  a  wreath  of  mist  is  sorrowful  to  me." 

Leo  confessed  to  somewhat  the  same  feeling. 
"Heaven — any  kind  of  heaven — has  always  been 
incomprehensible  to  me,  and  yet  we  must  believe 
there  is  some  sort  of  system  of  rewards  and 
punishments.  Anyhow,  your  mother's  death 
was  glorious.  She  died  as  she  would  have  wished 
to  die — in  proving  her  faith." 

"She  gave  too  much,"  he  protested.  "All 
her  life  she  was  set  apart  to  do  a  martyr's  work. 
I  understand  now  why  my  father  couldn't  stand 
it.  I  know  how  he  must  have  resented  these 
Voices,  and  I  cannot  blame  him  for  going  away. 
Would  you  marry  a  man  like  Stainton  Moses  or 
David  Home?" 

291 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

She  recoiled  a  little  before  the  thought.  "Of 
course  not — but — " 

"What?" 

"Your  mother  was  charming.  If  your  father 
really  loved  her — " 

"He  did!  I'm  sure  of  that,  at  first,  but  these 
'ghosts'  destroyed  his  home.  My  mother  con 
fessed  to  me  that  they  tormented  my  father  for 
his  unbelief,  and  he  had  to  go." 

"They  are  together  now,  and  he  believes." 

Victor  fixed  a  penetrating  look  upon  her. 
"Do  you  really  believe  that  the  dead  speak  to 
us?" 

"I  see  no  reason  whey  they  shouldn't — if  they 
want  to.  How  else  can  you  explain  these 
Voices?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  afraid  these  modern 
Italian  scientists  are  right.  The  Voices  were 
only  'parasitic  personalities,'  nothing  else.  But 
let's  not  talk  of  them.  I'm  tired  of  the  'ghost- 
room' — all  my  life  I've  had  it — and  now  I'm 
going  to  forget  it  if  I  can." 

"Hush!  Your  mother  may  hear  you  and 
grieve." 

"If  she  can  hear  me  she  will  understand  my 
feeling.  I  like  the  world  as  it  is — I  don't  want 
the  supernatural  thrust  into  it." 

"I  think  you're  wrong,"  she  said,  firmly. 
"The  larger  view  is  that  of  the  scientist  who 
recognizes  nothing  supernatural  in  the  uni 
verse.  I  would  not  part  with  what  your  mother 

292 


THE  RING 

gave  me  for  huge  sums.  I've  had  wonderful, 
thrilling  experiences.  Remember  Altair!" 

Altair !  Yes,  he  remembered  her,  and  remem 
bering  her  he  recalled  the  graceful  figure  at  his 
bedside  and  the  touch  of  the  faintly  clinging 
lips.  That  mystery  remained  the  most  inexpli 
cable  of  them  all. 

While  thus  he  sat,  dream-filled  and  rapt,  the 
girl  studied  him,  and  her  face  changed.  ''You 
believe  in  Altair.  What's  more,  you  love  her, 
and  I  can't  blame  you  for  it.  She  is  more  beau 
tiful  than  angels.  You  will  not  forsake  the  '  ghost- 
room  '  so  long  as  you  have  a  hope  that  she  may 
return." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  protested.  "Altair 
is  only  a  dream.  I  worship  her  as  a  figure  in  a 
vision.  Do  you  know  what  I  think  she  was?" 
Her  look  questioned,  and  he  went  on.  "For 
days  I  have  pondered  on  her  face  and  figure, 
in  the  light  of  modern  science,  and  I  am  con 
vinced  that  she  was  nothing  but  a  union  of  my 
mother's  astral  self  and  you." 

She  looked  at  him  in  startled  thought.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

He  explained  eagerly.  "You  must  have 
noticed  how  much  like  my  mother  she  was  ?  Her 
brow  was  the  same — her  eyes  the  same — " 

"Yes,  they  were  a  little  like  hers." 

"But  her  mouth  and  chin  were  exactly  like 
yours.  Her  hands  were  like  yours.  She  held 
her  head  exactly  as  you  do — and  then  she 

20  293 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

changed;    sometimes  my  mother  predominated 
in  her,  sometimes  you  were  the  stronger." 

The  girl  was  deeply  affected  by  the  significance 
of  this  analysis.  "You  imagined  all  that." 

He  pushed  on.  "I  did  not,  and,  furthermore, 
Altair  never  came  till  you  sat  with  my  mother. 
She  never  attained  such  power — so  your  aunt 
agrees — till  I  came  into  the  circle.  She  repre 
sented  my  conception  of  my  mother  and  you. 
I  loved  my  mother,  and  I  admired  you — and 
out  of  my  love  and  admiration  Altair  was 
created." 

"That  is  absurd!  If  ever  a  spirit  came  from 
heaven,  Altair  was  that  one.  Why,  she  was 
palpable!  I've  touched  her  hands." 

He  said,  slowly:  "She  was  beautiful,  I  con 
fess,  so  beautiful  that  on  that  first  night  she 
made  even  you  seem  coarse  and  material." 

"I  felt  your  disdain,"  she  thrust  in,  with  sud 
den  hurt. 

"But  that  was  only  for  the  moment.  I  could 
see  nothing  but  her  face — so  sad,  so  wistful. 
But  let  me  ask  you  something.  Did  you,  the 
night  after  our  walk  on  the  drive  in  the  moon 
light — did  you  dream  of  me?" 

Her  lip  curled  in  a  wondering  smile.  "What 
a  question  to  ask  of  me!" 

"But  did  you?  Come  now,  be  honest.  I 
have  a  reason  for  asking — did  you?" 

"What  is  your  reason  for  asking?" 

"That  night  Altair  came  to  my  bedside." 
294 


THE  RING 

Her  eyes  flashed  and  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
"You  have  an  Oriental  imagination." 

"Don't  go — hear  me  out.  It  was  a  beautiful 
experience." 

"Apparently  it  was.  To  me  your  story  is 
insulting." 

He  lost  patience  a  little,  and  said  bluntly: 
"You  act  as  if  I  charged  you  with  something.  I 
say,  'Altair'  came,  and  to  me  her  visit  was  very 
significant  and  beautiful,  because  she  testified 
to  me  that  both  you  and  my  mother  were  think 
ing  of  me.  It  was,  in  fact,  your  united  astral 
selves  that  paid  that  visit.  Altair  was  your 
materialized  friendship  and  my  mother's  love." 

"What  a  fantastic  notion!"  she  said;  but  she 
lingered,  held  by  something  new  and  masterful 
in  his  voice. 

She  added,  with  some  humor:  "Be  kind 
enough  to  imagine  that  your  mother's  'astral 
self  preponderated  in  that  vision." 

"I  do,  for  when  Altair  stooped  to  kiss  me — " 

"Stop!"  she  cried  out,  sharply;  "you  go  too 
far!" 

"Leo!"  he  called,  and  his  voice  checked  her  as 
quickly  as  if  he  had  caught  her  by  the  arm.  "I 
am  not  joking;  I  am  very  serious.  You  must 
remember  that  I  have  lost  both  my  mother  and 
Altair — you  alone  remain — I  can't  afford  to  lose 
you.  You  are  all  I  have  now.  Don't  be  angry 
with  me." 

She  considered  him  with  a  return  to  pity. 
295 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"Forgive  me,"  she  hurriedly  retracted.  "I  am 
very  sorry  for  you,  and  I  don't  want  to  seem 
unfriendly;  but  it  is  only  a  week  since  we  met. 
What  can  you  know  of  me  in  so  short  a  time?" 

"I  loved  you  the  moment  you  came  into  my 
mother's  room." 

"Nonsense.     You  hated  me." 

"I  did  not  like  the  way  you  treated  me;  but 
I  never  hated  you.  I  was  afraid  of  you." 

"If  your  mother  can  hear  you  say  that,  she 
is  certainly  smiling,  for  she  knows  you  are  not 
afraid  of  anybody.  You're  a  very  stiff-necked 
person." 

"I  know  you  have  a  right  to  laugh  at  me; 
but  I  believe  our  'guides'  have  brought  us 
together.  I  need  you — now — and  if  I  dared 
I'd  ask  you  to  wear  this."  He  disclosed  a  ring 
in  his  hand. 

She  looked  at  it  narrowly.  ' '  I  know  that  ring ; 
it  was  your  mother's.  She  kept  it  in  a  little 
velvet  box  together  with  an  old-fashioned 
locket." 

"Yes,  it  is  hers.  It  isn't  very  grand,  com 
pared  with  your  own,  but  I  wish  you'd  put  it  on 
and  consider  it  my  promissory  note." 

"Your  promissory  note!" 

"Yes,  I  promise  to  buy  it  back  with  all  the 
money  you  have  lost  through  my  mother's 
advice.  Will  you  wear  it  for  me  ?" 

"Where  do  you  expect  to  find  so  much 
money?" 

296 


THE  RING 

"Right  here,  in  this  great  city.  Mr.  Bartol 
is  to  take  me  into  his  office.  He's  like  a  father 
to  me  already;  but  I  don't  expect  him  to  give 
me  anything.  I'm  going  to  work,  and  I'm 
going  to  pay  you  back  the  money  you  have  lost." 

Extending  her  little  finger,  she  took  the  ring 
daintily  on  its  tip.  ''All  that  sounds  very 
romantic;  and  yet  young  men  do  win  wealth 
and  fame  right  here — and  why  not  you?" 

"That's  just  it.  I  may  be  the  future  monopo 
lizer  of  air-ships — "  The  maid,  appearing  at  the 
moment,  announced  that  a  lady  wished  to  see 
Mr.  Ollnee. 

"Did  she  give  her  name?" 

"No,  sir ;  but  she  said  she  was  a  relative,  sir." 

"Tell  her  I  will  see  her  in  a  moment." 

As  the  maid  left  Leo  rose. 

"Don't  go!"  pleaded  Victor.  "My  visitor 
can  wait.  You  haven't  said  whether  you  will 
wear  my  ring  or  not.  I  don't  know  how  long  it 
may  be  before  I  can  'make  good,'  but  it  will 
help  mightily  to  know  that  you  are  expecting 
me  to  do  so." 

She  pondered,  but  her  face  was  kindly  and 
her  voice  very  gentle  as  she  said:  "I  don't  want 
to  seem  unkind  now  in  your  hour  of  grief,  but 
I  can't  wear  the  ring."  His  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  she  added:  "I'll  keep  it  for  you.  The  real 
question  between  us  will  have  to  be  decided 
some  time  in  the  future — when  we  know  each 
other  better.  You  need  not  think  of  paying 

297 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

me.  Go  and  see  your  relation.  It  may  be  a 
rich  aunt  come  to  adopt  you." 

"Couldn't  you  learn  to  love  me?"  he  asked, 
poignantly. 

"I  might."  She  smiled.  "I  like  you  al 
ready."  And  she  went  away,  leaving  him  with 
stronger  will  to  dare  and  do. 


XVI 

CONCLUSION 

A3  Victor  entered  the  library  he  was  met  by 
a  very  pale,  wide-eyed  young  woman  in  a 
picturesque  black  hat.  Her  voice  was  deep  and 
full  of  dramatic  fervor  as  she  said: 

1  'You  are  Victor  Ollnee?" 

"lam." 

Her  eyes,  large  and  very  dark,  almost  black, 
gazed  at  him  appealingly ,  as  she  said :  ' '  Pardon 
me  for  a  little  deception.  I  am  your  relation 
only  in  a  spiritual  sense — I  share  your  sorrow, 
and  in  other  ways  I  am  related  to  you.  I  was 
eager  to  see  you,  and  I  did  not  send  in  my  name 
for  the  reason  that  it  would  have  repelled  you,  and 
you  might  have  refused  to  meet  me." 

Victor  thought  her  a  very  singular  and  very 
theatric  young  person.  Certainly  she  was  under 
some  strong  stress  of  emotion  which  caused  her 
lips  to  quiver  and  her  voice  to  vibrate  tensely. 
He  knew  her  now.  She  was  the  girl  he  had 
confronted  in  the  court-room,  and  he  stared  at 
her,  uncertain  of  his  footing.  She  seemed  like  some 
of  the  figures  he  had  seen  on  the  stage,  vivid,  swift 

299 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

of  change,  unreal,  but  her  voice  was  vibrantly 
charming.  He  was  sure  she  was  the  girl  he  had 
met  on  the  street,  and  she  had  stood  beside  the 
man  Aiken  during  their  brief  appearance  in  the 
court-room. 

She  approached  a  step  or  two,  as  if  throwing 
herself  on  his  mercy.  ''My  name  is  Florence 
Aiken.  I  am  a  newspaper  writer.  I  am  the 
one  who  brought  all  this  trouble  to  you.  It  was 
I  who  wrote  that  first  article  in  the  Star  de 
nouncing  your  mother." 

He  recoiled  before  her  quite  as  dramatically 
as  she  could  have  wished.  "You  wrote  that!" 
he  exclaimed.  "I  thought  a  man  did  that  job." 

She  could  not  help  a  slight  expression  of  pride 
in  her  work.  "It  was  mine,  every  word  of  it. 
I  was  terribly  vindictive,  I  admit ;  but  you  must 
know  I  had  some  provocation.  Let  me  tell  you  ? 
Will  you  listen  to  me?  Please  do!  I'm  not  so 
heartless  as  I  seemed  in  that  article,  and  I  cannot 
rest  till  I  have  made  my  peace  with  you." 

Her  voice,  her  pale  face,  her  intense  eyes,  and 
her  tense  contralto  voice  softened  his  resentment. 

"I'll  listen,  but  you  can't  expect  me  to  forgive 
a  thing  like  that." 

"May  I  sit?" 

"Certainly,"  he  answered,  but  remained  stand 
ing,  as  if  to  retain  his  guard. 

"Don't  condemn  me  altogether,"  she  pleaded. 
' '  Wait  till  you  know  how  much  reason  I  had  to 
hate  the  whole  brood  of  clairvoyants,  seers,  and 

300 


CONCLUSION 

psychics.  My  dear  old  grandmother  was  an  easy 
mark  for  the  cheapest  of  them,  and  I,  who  paid 
for  her  nurse  out  of  my  own  thin  little  purse, 
and  waited  upon  her  night  and  day,  had  a  right 
to  consider  her  small  fortune  my  own.  It  wasn't 
much,  but  it  was  enough  to  pay  the  cost  of  a 
flat,  and  to  see  it  all  going  to  fakers  and  greasy 
palmists — well,  it  was  too  much.  It  made  a 
crusader  of  me — and  it  would  have  made  one  of 
you.  It  was  not  a  question  of  your  mother — 
alone.  I  went  to  our  managing  editor  at  last, 
and  told  him  my  story.  I  made  it  clear  to  him 
that  the  city  was  full  of  these  harpies  who  prey 
on  poor  old  women  like  my  grandmother.  '  They 
ought  to  be  driven  out  of  town,'  I  said.  'Cut 
loose,'  he  said;  and  I  did.  My  article  on  your 
mother  was  honest.  I  believed  her  to  be  simply 
another  one  of  the  same  sort  of  impostors.  I 
took  her  just  like  three  or  four  others  whose 
methods  I  knew,  and  I  got  my  cousin,  Frank 
Aiken,  to  bring  suit  against  her.  I  thought  she 
was  a  crook.  I  feel  differently  to-day.  Since 
talking  with  Judge  Bartol  and  Mr.  Stinchfield  (I 
handled  both  those  assignments)  I've  changed 
my  estimate  of  her.  I ,  have  written  a  page 
article  vindicating  her.  I've  come  to  tell  you 
that  her  death  in  that  cage  has  changed  the 
situation  for  me.  I  am  convinced  that  she  was 
sincere,  and  I  want  to  humble  myself  before  you, 
her  son,  and  ask  your  forgiveness.  I  know  you 
feel  more  like  killing  me,  but  here  I  am — I 

301 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

couldn't  rest  without  letting  you  know  that  I 
need  your  pardon." 

Her  plea,  swift,  voiced  in  music,  and  illustrated 
by  her  pale  face,  glowing  eyes,  and  sensitive  lips, 
powerfully  affected  him.  He  towered  over  her 
in  savage  silence  for  a  little  while,  then  with 
effort  he  said:  "I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  any 
thing  to  you,  for  I  felt  the  same  way — I  mean 
I  didn't  believe  in  my  mother's  business." 

She  became  radiant.     "Didn't  you?" 

"No.  Up  to  the  very  moment  when  that  red 
lamp  was  lit  I  could  not  believe  in  her.  I 
couldn't  help  doubting — even  now  I  need  the 
photographs  to  bolster  up  my  belief." 

The  reportorial  instinct  awoke  in  her.  "I 
wish  I  might  see  those  photographs — to  reassure 
myself,  not  for  publication.  May  I  see  them?" 

He  did  not  observe  that  her  desire  for  his  par 
don  seemed  suddenly  to  be  met,  even  though 
he  had  not  yet  put  it  in  words,  and  his  mind 
was  wholly  on  the  question  of  the  photographic 
tests  as  he  slowly  replied: 

"They  are  very  marvelous — especially  those 
which  came  on  the  unexposed  plates. M 

Her  eyes  widened  in  wonder.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

1 '  Mr.  Stinchfield  had  several  packages  of  plates 
opened  ready  to  use  in  his  cameras,  but  The 
Voices  only  let  him  make  one  flashlight.  It 
seems  as  if  they  knew  the  experiment  would  end 
my  mother's  life,  and  yet  on  each  of  the  unex- 

302 


CONCLUSION 

posed  plates  are  faces  and  forms,  some  of  which 
Mr.  Bartol  'recognized." 

"Let  me  see  them — please!"  she  pleaded, 
earnestly.  "They  will  comfort  me,  too,  for  I 
am  under  conviction." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  package  of  small 
photographs.  "Here,"  he  said,  "are  the  three 
flashlights  of  my  grandfather,  Nelson  Blodgett." 

The  young  woman  almost  snatched  them  in 
her  eager  haste.  "Oh,  wonderful!  What  a 
document!  The  medium  plainly  in  her  cage — 
and  this  figure  on  the  same  plate." 

"It  is  the  most  convincing  picture  in  exist 
ence,"  he  said,  sadly,  "but  it  cost  me  my 
mother." 

She  fixed  a  dreamy  gaze  upon  him.  "If  this 
is  a  spirit — then  your  mother  can  return  to  you. 
Has  she  done  so?" 

1  He  moved  uneasily.  "I  have  not  asked  her 
to  do  that.  I  don't  care  to  be  controlled  or 
guided  by  spirits,  not  even  by  her  spirit." 

"Why?" 

His  voice  was  firm  and  assured  as  he  replied: 
"Because  I  want  to  live  and  work  out  my 
career  like  other  men.  I  don't  want  to  see  or 
hear  any  more  of  the  'astral  plane' — "  He 
checked  himself.  "It  isn't  natural  for  a  man 
like  me  to  be  mixed  up  with  all  this  spirit  busi 
ness,  and  I'm  tired  of  it." 

"I  see  what  you  mean.  You  want  to  work 
and  woo  and  marry  like  other  men.  You're 

303 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

right;  of  course  you're  right.  What  have  we 
who  are  young  and  vigorous  to  do  with  the  dead, 
anyway?  Unless  all  human  life  is  a  mistake,  a 
foolish  thing,  it's  our  business  to  live  it  humanly." 
She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  other  pictures. 
"Let  me  see  them  all,  please!" 

He  handed  them  to  her.  "There  were  three 
cameras,"  he  explained,  "hence  these  duplicates. 
These  faces  are  likenesses  of  Mr.  Bartol's  wife 
and  two  children — and  these  plates,  remember, 
were  not  exposed — they  are  of  Altair,  one  of 
the  guides." 

She  studied  the  shadowy  forms  with  keen 
gaze.  "One  of  the  strange  things  about  this 
'  spirit  photograph '  business  is  the  resemblance 
they  all  bear  to  pictures — I  mean,  they  all  look 
as. if  they  were  photographs  of  framed  portraits 
or  drawings." 

Again  he  betrayed  restlessness.  "Mr.  Stinch- 
field  noticed  that." 

"What  is  his  explanation?" 

"He  does  not  think  they  come  from  spirits 
at  all." 

She  urged  him  to  unbosom  himself.  "You 
have  a  conviction?  What  is  it?" 

"His  theory  is  that  they  are  only  mental 
images  transferred  by  some  unknown  mental 
power  to  the  plates." 

"What  about  the  figure  of  your  grand- 
sire?" 

"His  theory  is  that  the  figure  was  really  the 
304 


CONCLUSION 

etheric  self  of  my  mother — shaped  to  the  form 
like  my  grandsire  by  her  own  mind." 

She  stared  at 'him.     "And  you  accept  that?" 

"I  don't  know  what  else  to  believe.  Yes,  I 
accept  that.  I  don't  believe  the  dead  have  any 
right  to  talk  and  fool  with  the  lives  of  the  living 
the  way  I've  been  fooled  with  and  side-tracked." 
His  voice  was  full  of  fervor  now.  "I'm  going 
to  live  my  own  life  hereafter  irrespective  of  the 
dead — responsiole  only  to  the  living.  I  will  not 
be  disciplined  by  ghosts." 

The  girl  laid  the  photographs  down  softly  and 
looked  at  him  with  frank  admiration.  "You're 
a  very  extraordinary  young  man,"  she  said, 
sagely. 

"No,  I'm  not!"  he  protested.  "I'm  just  a 
good  average.  A  week  ago  my  hottest  ambition 
was  to  carry  the  Winona  ball  team  to  victory. 
If  I  had  the  money  and  the  courage  I'd  go  back 
there  to-morrow  and  finish  my  course." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  courage?" 

"Well,  you  know  what  I'd  be  loaded  up  with. 
To  go  back  there  now  would  be  the  devil  and  all. 
Your  article  broke  my  peaceful  combination  just 
a  week  ago  last  Sunday." 

"But  I  have  undone  my  work.  I  have  vindi 
cated  your  mother.  You  have  a  right  to  be 
proud  of  her.  She  was  as  real  a  martyr  as  ever 
went  to  the  stake." 

"I  know,  but  I'll  be  a  marked  figure,  all  the 


same." 


305 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

"You  were  a  marked  figure  before.  But  con 
sider  all  explanations  have  been  made — wait  till 
you  read  my  article.  Go  back!"  she  insisted. 
"I  wish  you  would."  Her  voice  was  rich  with 
pleading.  "It  would  make  me  happy.  I  feel 
horribly  guilty — really  I  do.  I'm  only  a  grub 
bing  reporter-person — I've  had  to  earn  my  way 
and  keep  house  for  my  grandmother  besides; 
but  I'd  gladly  share  my  salary  to  help  you  return 
to  college.  Please  go  back — it  will  relieve  my 
mind  of  a  big  burden." 

He  took  her  hand  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was 
offered.  '  *  I  am  within  a  few  days  of  graduation, 
but—" 

"Please  go  back — for  the  sake  of  a  poor  lit 
tle  newspaper  wretch  who  feels  that  she  has 
indirectly  spoiled  your  career.  She  pressed 
his  hand  fervidly.  "  Promise  me  this  and 
you'll  take  a  monstrous  load  off  my  shoul 
ders." 

She  had  the  face,  the  temperament  of  the 
actress,  and  loved  to  experiment  on  the  hearts 
of  men;  but  she  was  deeply  in  earnest  now. 
Bartpl  and  Stinchfield  had  really  changed  her 
point  of  view  as  regards  Mrs.  Ollnee,  and  this 
"situation"  appealed  to  her  at  the  moment 
with  irresistible  power.  Life  was  to  her  a  drama, 
intense,  never-ending,  romantic,  and  at  the 
moment  she  loved  this  splendid  young  man 
orphaned  by  her  hand. 

He  could  not  resist  her  caressing  voice,  her 
306 


CONCLUSION 

appealing  eyes,  her  sensitive  lips,  and  he  said, 
"I  promise." 

''Thank  you,"  she  said,  and,  dropping  his 
hand,  she  lifted  burning  yet  tearful  eyes  to  his 
face.  "You  are  very  generous." 

He  went  on,  "I  am  sure  you  meant  well." 

"I  don't  want  to  rest  under  false  imputations,11 
she  repeated.  "I  did  not  mean  well.  That  first 
article  was  savage.  I  was  angry.  I  struck 
blindly,  but  I  struck  to  hurt." 

"Well,  all  that  is  ended,"  he  replied,  sadly. 
"My  mother  is  to  be  buried  to-day." 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a  moment. 
"I  have  one  more  request  to  make,"  she  said, 
at  last,  and  her  voice  was  very  soft  and  hesitat 
ing.  "I'd  like  to  look  upon  her  face.  I  want 
to  ask  her  forgiveness." 

His  heart  melted  at  this  plea,  and  he  turned 
away  to  hide  his  tears.  When  he  could  speak 
he  said:  "She  is  very  beautiful.  I  cannot  be 
lieve  even  now  that  she  is  dead ;  but  I  have  given 
my  consent  to  have  her  taken  to  the  cemetery. 
I  will  show  her  to  you." 

In  silence  she  followed  him  up  the  stairway 
and  into  the  cool,  dark  room  where  the  coffin 
lay. 

The  windows  were  open  at  the  bottom,  and 
though  the  shades  were  drawn,  the  chamber  was 
filled  with  soft  light.  The  cries  of  the  barn-yard 
and  the  twitter  of  birds  outside  seemed  strangely 
softened  as  the  two  young  people  so  singularly 

307 


VICTOR  OLLNEE'S  DISCIPLINE 

brought  together  approached  the  still  form  of 
the  seeress  and  looked  into  her  face  serene  with 
the  infinite  repose  of  death. 

Victor,  with  choking  throat  and  burning  eyes, 
stood  at  the  bier  unable  to  utter  a  sound;  but 
the  girl,  after  a  long  glance,  took  a  rose  from  her 
bosom,  and,  with  a  sigh,  gently  laid  it  on  the 
still,  small,  white  hands  of  the  silent  form. 

"Accept  my  homage,"  she  intoned,  softly, 
"and  if  you  can  still  see  and  hear,  pardon  me 
and  forget  my  bitter  words." 

She  stood  a  moment  thereafter  as  if  involun 
tarily  listening,  waiting,  hoping — but  the  dead 
gave  no  sign. 


THE    END 


955 


M18060 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


